


There for you

by heaflower



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaflower/pseuds/heaflower
Summary: 'We could grow bigger and better and brighter than we ever could if we stayed inside our little glass globes.'





	There for you

Before Haechan joined the team, the school newspaper couldn’t really be called a newspaper. It wasn’t fit for wrapping fish, and not just because it wasn’t printed with organic inks on unbleached paper. The typical headline was generally something like SOCCER TEAM WINS AT REGIONALS or YEAR TEN ADVENTURES. Nobody was interested in serious journalism. Except for him.

Since Haechan came along, he’d written an analysis of the contents of the food sold at the school canteen, an investigation into literacy levels in Year Six, an exposé on the teachers who smoked outside the back door of the staff room, and a variety of penetrating interviews, unflinching reviews and frank profiles.

But it was hard, developing his writing skills on a school paper. He had to go deeper than the Drama Club’s premiere of a play, or the fact that their soccer team had once again won a game this year. He needed something grittier, more compelling, more personal. He needed to climb inside somebody’s life and report back from within their soul. He needed to get his teeth into some real long-form investigative journalism. Haechan needed a story.

And then he found it.

It was a Monday, so he’d had Debating at lunch. They were practising for their next round of regional finals. They’d win, of course, because Haechan was third speaker on their team and he always wins.

The problem was that he stupidly left his diary in the library after Debating and didn’t realise until he was on his way to English for fifth period. He turned and headed back to the other side of the building, cutting through the Year Twelve lockers and up the stairs to the library.

The teacher wouldn’t mind if he was a few minutes late for class. Heachan was his best student, after all. So he slipped into the library and through to the little room where they had their Debating meetings. The diary was there, right where he’d left it. And then it happened.

The security gate by the library exit door whooped. Haechan turned around to see who had set it off, but all he saw was the big door closing.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Wait!”

Was someone stealing library books? One of the nearby computers chimed a shutdown tone. Was it the library book thief? What had they been doing on the computer? And why had they shut it down instead of just logging out?

Every journalistic bone in Haechan’s body started to hum. Maybe this was it. Maybe this would be the key to his next big story. He booted up the computer, all ready to undertake a browser-history search, or, if the cache had been emptied, do something tricky and clever. But as he double-clicked on the browser icon, a window popped up. ‘Firefox closed unexpectedly. Would you like to open the most recently viewed tabs?’ Too easy.

There was only one tab. And it wasn’t at all what Haechan was expecting.

“LoneyHearts.com?” he read out loud. “What on earth . . . ?“

It was a very simple website containing a home page, an FAQ and a forum.

_“This website is a resource for men suffering from loneliness and who are continuing to suffer emotionally because of a lack of meaningful female companionship. In short, this is a place for men who desperately wish to have a relationship but do not have one. Do any of the following describe you?_

_1\. You are a virgin._  
_ 2\. You have never dated._  
_ 3\. You have never had a romantic or sexual relationship with a member of the opposite sex._  
_ 4\. You long for a relationship and suffer without it._  
_ 5\. You are heterosexual._  
_ 6\. You are male._  
_ If you answered YES to most of these points, you are welcome here.”_

Haechan started grinning. This was so much better than a library-book-thief story. Was someone from this school so desperate? He clicked on the forum page and skimmed a few posts.

**[+15, -0] The only physical contact I’ve ever had with a woman other than my mother was shaking hands at a job interview once. I didn’t get the job.**

**[+4, -1] I am starved for affection.**

**[+25, -2] I am so afraid of getting close to someone…..sharing your happiness brings envy and sharing your sadness becomes a weakness someone else will use against you.**

**[+20, -0] Why don’t we have arranged marriages in this society?**

'Haechan?'

He closed the browser window hurriedly. It was his history teacher, a haze of cigarette smoke still clinging to her.

“Haechan, what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

He explained that he’d left his diary behind after his Debating meeting, and quickly gathered his books and sprinted off to class.

* * *

Being fifteen minutes behind everyone else in his class didn’t put him at any kind of disadvantage. If anything, it might even the playing field slightly. The other students at Heachan’s school were total Neanderthals.

Or so he had thought.

While he pretended to work on an essay, his eyes darted around the room. Was it one of these boys? Could one of them be posting on the website? He considered each of them with his keenest journalistic eye.

Second row from the front was where all the smart kids sat (himself included). Renjun is quiet, but he’d come frighteningly close to kicking Heachan’s butt in Year Eight Debating, so he obviously doesn’t have a problem with shyness. And besides, he just doesn’t seem the guy to post lonely stuff in an online forum. Doyoung was going out with a girl, so that ruled him out and Kun had been spotted kissing a girl from another school at the last Maths Tournament.

In the middle of the classroom Jaemin, Chenle and Jisung are throwing wads of paper at each other and giggled. Surely none of them were mature enough to even have girls on their radar.

Johnny and Jaehyun were asleep up the back. Probably not them, as Haechan is sure that they’re both popular flirts. Next to them was Lucas. He’d only arrived at their school at the beginning of the year, and he was deeply, deeply cool. His adorable smile and handsome facial features had every girl at school planning to jump him at the upcoming social.

Definitely wasn’t him.

That left only one row, where all the dorks sat. Frankly, any of them could be active in that forum. Taeyong and Xiaojun were definite possibilities, but maybe they all were.

It couldn’t have just been curiosity that led someone to that website. Surely whoever was in the library was a regular visitor.

But who was it?

* * *

Haechan was tempted to pull out his phone in class and continue investigating on the website then and there, but he didn’t want to push his luck. Phones were strictly forbidden and he didn’t want to risk having his phone confiscated.

So Haechan continued his investigation on the train on the way home from school. He read page after page of forum posts. He was so engrossed in the lives of these weird people, he nearly missed his station. Hurrying through the train doors just as they closed, Heachan realised that he was also missing his prime objective.

He needed to figure out which guy on that website was the one from his school. Surely the guy’d leave some kind of identifying clue. Haechan was a journalist, after all. He just had to read between the lines.

* * *

His dad was working so Haechan had the apartment to himself. He ordered Samgyeopsal from the Korean place around the corner, and settled down on the sofa with his laptop and a cup of tea. By ordering his food, he was creating jobs not only for the people who cooked the food, but also the people who delivered it. And he was giving himself more time to spend on the important things.

Like thinking about LonleyHearts.

He’d found the perfect story. It was about the way the society operated, and who it was failing. But Heachan needed to find him. He needed to find the lonley boy. Heachan needed to find him, observe him, study him.

What were his dreams? What was stopping him from achieving them? He needed to learn about the guy’s childhood, his parents. And then he would fix him. This would be the best story ever. With an article like this, he could be published in a real newspaper.

This lonely-hearts boy could make him famous. But Heachan had to find him first. He refreshed the website, checking for new posts. And found him.

_BabyLion: If you force a computer to shut down, will your browser reload when you switch it back on? Can someone figure out who was the last person to log on?_

The post had no replies. Haechan clicked on the username and it took him to a profile page.

BabyLion, 17, had posted six times over the past three months. Short posts, usually asking simple questions regarding love and girls. There was one intriguing question about what constituted stalking, but it wasn’t enough. Heachan wanted more.

He typed ‘BabyLion’ into Google. After scrolling through tons of animal blogs, he finally found it. Jackpot.

babylion.tumblr.com

His lonely-heart boy had a blog! Heachan clicked on the link, his hands trembling from excitement.

_“SCREAMING! Today I was nearly discovered. My heart is still pounding thinking about it. Don’t think I can recover from this. I was in the library at lunchtime. When the bell went, the teacher disappeared and I was on my own. I felt like ditching class, so I went to check the website. But I wasn’t alone._

_Someone saw me – a girl, I think, but not sure. Bruh, I turned off the computer as fast as I could and ran. I was so paniked I forgot to delete the search history (I also set off the alarm ‘cause I forgot I still had that library book with me). Haha typical me. I just hope the girl didn’t see me?? What if she thinks I stole a book or something. Ugh.”_

Haechan smiled. So the dude was a seventeen-year-old boy, who went to his school, and was almost certainly in the same year as him.

Haechan dug around in his filing cabinet until he found last year’s yearbook.There were only around fifty boys in his year level. That didn’t seem like so many. He’d just talk to every single one until he found BabyLion. It’d be an interesting social experiment. He could even document the process.

* * *

As usual, Jaemin was waiting at the train station next morning. He smiled brightly at Heachan.

“Morning, Haechanie!” he said. Of course, his hair was dead-straight and perfect. His pink backpack once again sat perfectly positioned between his shoulder blades.

Inside, Haechan rolled his eyes. He was hoping to spend the train trip to school researching about the website. But although Jaemin was sweet and soft-voiced, he wasn’t silent. He chattered happily all the way to school, telling Haechan about his week, parents, friends, how much he’d love to have a dog.

As he talked, Haechan touched the screen of his phone through his bag. He was itching to pull it out and start reading, but he didn’t want to be rude. Anyway, Jaemin might be a useful tool when it came to tackling the boys Haechan didn’t know very well.

The thing that was really blowing Haechan’s mind was that boys even cared enough about girls to use an online forum like that. He hardly ever thought about girls himself. He was pretty sure he wasn’t gay but it’s just that he had better things to do than fritter away his high-school years mooning over some dumb girl.

So Haechan supposes he wasn’t crazy about girls or boys – or really teenagers in general. Either way, he had absolutely no desire to touch any of them. It just seemed so boring.

Anyway, since he didn’t have any relationship problems dragging him down, he was ready to go. He was going to start with what he knew. The boys in his homeroom, his classes, his clubs and lunchtime activities. From there he’d spread out into other lunchtime clubs and societies, and then see what gaps were left. Every time he spoke to a boy, he’d record the conversation and later transcribe it.

Once the interview had been completed, Heachan would classify each boy into one of three groups and highlight their picture in his yearbook: Innocent (pink highlighter), Possibly Guilty (yellow highlighter), Likely Guilty (green highlighter).

It was an excellent plan, neat and methodical. It couldn’t fail.

* * *

He spent the morning preparing himself to start his interviews. The problem was that being one of the best students left pretty much almost no time for that. The first two hours he spent discussing the new article with Mrs. Cho, who seemed interested at first, but after a while started checking at her watch and peering over Heachan’s shoulder at the classroom door.

Anyway, by the time he’d finished there, it was practically time for third period. He had to give a speech about his favourite animal in English, so he didn’t have time to interview anyone until lunch, when he also had band rehearsal.

As he sat down in the wind section and opened the snaps on his oboe case, Jaemin gave him a little wave from behind his viola. Heachan waved back and assembled his oboe. Now was his chance. Subject Number One.

He turned to Jeno, the other oboe player, careful to make eye contact.

Lee Jeno  
Eye contact: Yes.  
Overt signs of shyness: No.

ME: Hi, Jeno.

HIM: Hey. Wait, why are you pointing your phone at me?

ME: It’s a Dictaphone app. So. What do you think of this Tchaikovsky piece?

HIM: Um. It’s okay. A bit tricky with the key-changes. Why are you pointing that at me?

ME: Do you have a girlfriend?

(SUBJECT SHOWS SIGNS OF DISCOMFORT)

HIM: Um. Why do you ask?

ME: Just making conversation. You seem like a nice guy.

(SUBJECT BLUSHES)

HIM: Oh, the teacher is here. We’d better pay attention.

ME: So I’m taking that as a no. Why? Do you struggle talking to girls? Are you perhaps lonely?

HIM: I think the teacher wants us to start.

ME: Have you ever kissed a girl, Jeno?

HIM: Look, do you think we could talk about this later?

ME: Am I making you uncomfortable? Are you embarrassed for not having a girlfriend?

HIM: Well, now that you mention it, you’re being a bit—

THE TEACHER: When you’re quite done there, Jeno.

HIM: Sorry, Ms.

**Verdict: Not guilty.**

In the breaks between pieces Haechan also interviewed the bassoonist, and two of the male clarinettists. No joy there. The bassoonist assumed he was doing an article for the paper, and kept talking about how the bassoon was such an overlooked instrument.

The two clarinettists had nothing of interest to say, but they didn’t seem uncomfortable talking to him about the matter. So they are innocent until guilty proven for now.

As everyone packed up their instruments, Heachan pulled the yearbook out of his bag and drew big crosses in pink highlighter over the faces of Jeno, the bassoonist and the two clarinettists.

He had a free period after lunch, so he headed to the library to finish an article he was writing for a school paper. He picked a seat where he could also stake out the computer where he’d first discovered the LonleyHearts website. Maybe BabyLion would come back.

'I hope you’re working on the introductory speech for tomorrow night, Haechan.'

Haechan glanced up to see Taeil, his co-captain and fellow debater, with a Math textbook in one hand and a battered paperback of Thomas Hardey poems in the other.

He was automatically crossed off by Haechan’s LonleyHearts list because at a cast party for the school play last year he’d tried to stick his tongue in Haechan’s ear. Back then he’d politely convinced Taeil that this was not a good idea. With his knee.

“What?” Haechan said, craning past Taeil to see if anyone had sat down at the computer.

“Tomorrow night,” Taeil said. “The Debating semifinal. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Haechan laughed with just the right amount of scorn. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to worry about.” He was pretty sure he could walk in there totally unprepared and still debate the pants off everyone else.

He expected Taeil to walk away, but annoyingly he didn’t. “What are you doing?” the boy asked, trying to see the screen of Haechan’s phone.

“Writing on an essay,” Haechan quickly said and turned it over. “Did you know that we only study one text written by a woman? And there are no female protagonists either. Like, I mean, what kind of message does that send to our students? Are women’s stories not worthy of study?”

Taeil nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Fascinating. Uh, I’d better go.”

He scuttled away as Heachan rolled his eyes. So predictable.

Nobody came to use the computer he was watching. Which left Haechan with a lot of time to stalk BabyLion’s archive. There were only a few personal posts which were written by the blog owner himself so Haechan decided to just read all of them. Probably the best way to get to know the guy anyway. He clicks on the me_talking Hashtag.

_Mai 7th_  
_ Well shit it’s only been a week back in school and I’m already freaking out. This is gonna be way too much. How am I being able to handle any of this. “Compare the book Hiob to Faust’s Prologue in Heaven” sure thing it’s not like this is gonna take ages and I’ve got other classes to do shit for. Let’s talk about how that certain person’s eyes wrinkle when they smile though. Haha.. I’m so stupid. As if I had a chance._

Haechan had to chuckle a bit. That topic was easy, he had it last year. Heachan rolled his eyes and scrolled down further, skimming the posts.

_Mai 18th_  
_ The occasional I should be doing homework but I don’t feel like it so I go on tumblr and reblog everything I see moment of the day is here again. I’ve been going to school for a little more than 10 years now and still I can’t write an essay in one go whilst at home how did I pass my exams hoW. R.ght. Back to school work we go._

Haechan rolled his eyes once more. Was BabyLion really so bad at school? Facepalm.

_June 5th_  
_ My Cousin's birthday is soon and I feel like emptying a bottle of hard liquor and giving the empty bottle as part of his present. I doubt he’ll like it. But I’d have a laugh so … should I? Why is finding presents for people so freaking hard?? Last year I gave him a Dictionary and he was lowkey offended. Haha… meanwhile I thought he would appreciate that I am supporting his studies. RIP._

Hmm, no further mention of BabyLion’s crush. Haechan scrolls down further, skipping a bunch of boring posts about school life and exam stress. Then: finally!

_August 20th_  
_ This person that I like… must be an angel. Really. And I can’t help to always think of my crush, like something strangely comforting and familiar like a taste that lingers in the back of my mind…_

* * *

Haechan was paired up in Chemistry to make formic acid out of oxalic acid and glycerol. He made sure he was paired with a boy.

Subject: Yuta  
Eye contact: Sporadic.  
Overt signs of shyness: No.

ME: Have you ever had a girlfriend?

HIM: Yes. Pass me the filtration flask.

ME: You’re doing it wrong. The condenser goes in like this. Do you ever experience feelings of loneliness? Are you a sensitive guy?

HIM: I’m allergic to onion. It gives me a rash.

ME: Uh, okay. How many hours a day do you spend daydreaming about girls?

HIM: Does Winwin count? Also, I thought this was Chemistry, not Psychology. Where’s the distillation flask?

ME: You’re putting in too much oxalic acid! It’s only supposed to be 10 mg. Let me do it.

HIM: Give it back! Are you seriously going to do this entire experiment on your own?

ME: I think that would be best, don’t you? I mean, if I do it, it’ll be right. Everybody wins.

HIM: I think the point of this experiment is to learn.

ME: And that is exactly why I am going to go on to have a fabulous career, and you will probably end up being too overwhelmed by the bitter reality of your existence to even work up the energy for a mid-life crisis.

HIM: Hang on. Are you recording me? What’s going on?

(INTERVIEW TERMINATED BY SUBJECT)

**Verdict: Innocent.**

* * *

When Haechan got home, he checked BabyLion’s tumblr for new posts. Nothing. He sat at his desk and transcribed today’s interviews. Then he pulled out his diary and recorded today’s summary:

Interviews: 5  
Possible suspects: 0

He considered adding a third column entitled morons with zero functioning brain cells, because clearly he would be meeting plenty of them. But it was a journalist’s job to remain objective, so Heachan would just have to rise above the idiocy of his male classmates and continue his search.

He felt sure he knew BabyLion now, from his tumblr posts: poetry (that wasn’t that cringy, Heachan had to admit), fashion, photography, anime edits and funny memes. BabyLion was definitely interesting. He wasn’t like the rest of the monkeys at school. If only Heachan could find him, then he could rescue him from his loneliness.

He pulled out his Maths textbook, but couldn’t concentrate on integers and tangents. Instead, he kept refreshing Babylion’s tumblr and the forum for new posts. He needed a clue.

* * *

He didn’t have any more luck on Thursday. They had a mock-exam in English in the morning (which was so easy it was insulting), so Haechan didn’t get a chance to interview anyone during class.

At recess he talked to a few boys playing downball against a wall near the boys’ toilets, but they weren’t shy about telling Haechan what he could do with his dictaphone.

As he made his way to swim training at lunchtime, Haechan got trapped in a throng of giggling, hair-sprayed girls. They were discussing outfits and boys and how to sneak alcohol into the school social, and boys and boys and boys.

Having spent the last two days talking to the boys of this school, Haechan wanted to tell them they were wasting their time. But taking a good look at each of them, he decided they were perfectly matched to those meathead boys.

He wondered if one of these girls was BabyLion’s crush. Haechan doubted it. Surely he’d have better taste.

“Do you know if Mark Lee is going to the social?” said one of the girls. “He’s so hot. I wish he would ask me out.”

Another girl flicked her hair. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “He’s got a girlfriend. From his old school.”

Haechan clawed his way out of the pack, gulping down fresh air. Thank fucking god.

* * *

In Media Studies, Wendy handed him a pale pink envelope. It was an invitation to her seventeenth birthday party. Haechan guessed she had invited the whole swim team. He quickly thanked her and let her know he’d definitely be there.

He couldn’t say he loved attending parties. To be honest, Haechan wished there were still structured games and activities, like when he was little. At least then there were prizes to be won. Now it was all just sitting around, making boring as hell small talk, gossiping and (depending on the level of parental supervision) drinking.

So he just didn’t see the point of parties. Haechan quite liked it when there was dancing, but that usually didn’t happen until after midnight, by which time he was totally ready to go home. But since they were like part of the The High School Experience, and a great way to soften people up, make them comfortable and sniff out potential stories, Haechan could bear them.

That day he spoke to another six boys after school, bringing his total number of interview subjects to sixteen, before sprinting to the local town hall for the Debating semifinal. They won, of course, mostly because the other team didn’t seem to know what the topic was actually about.

Taeil asked Haechan if he wanted to get an ice-cream afterwards and talk strategy for the final. Heachan pointed out that the final was two weeks away and that there wasn’t much strategising that could be done at this stage. Anyway, he wanted to get home and check for new tumblr posts.

As the train rattled its way homewards, Haechan reviewed his findings. He was making good time, but felt a little concerned that he hadn’t yet met a single boy who even warranted a yellow highlighter, let alone a green one. Still. There were plenty more to go.

He checked the blog one more. Bingo! A new post:

_The other day, my German teacher asked me to conjugate the verb sein. When she spoke to me I could feel my face getting red. But I could do it, as long as I didn’t look at her while I was speaking. Haha. I stuttered a lot… and kept saying “like” probably a million times._

_Teachers don’t call on me very often. I think I made her uncomfortable today. I do that to people. People don’t like it when you don’t make eye contact or smile when you talk. Usually a teacher only does it once, and then they leave me alone. Hopefully this one will have learned that now. I was so exhausted after that class._

Haechan blinked. German. BabyLion took German! German was an elective, and there was only one class this year.

Haechan pulled up the school’s website and clicked through to the Student Portal where all the timetables were. Third period tomorrow. He could just walk right in and find him.

* * *

Even though Haechan as good as found BabyLion, and he’d already discounted everyone in his English class, he interviewed them all anyway. After all, he needed a control group to compare BabyLion to.

Doyoung answered his questions in semi-annoyed monosyllables, and Kun confirmed that rumour about him and that girl at the last Maths Tournament. Jaemin, Chenle and Jisung sniggered and made fun of him the whole time, but didn’t show any signs of loneliness, just idiocy.

Heachan had already interviewed Jeno, and Renjun showed him a photo on his phone of him and Moomin dancing at Moomin’s cousin’s eighteenth. Jungwoo insisted that Haechan interview him to prove he wasn’t homophobic, then badgered him to allocate more money from the budget to the Gay–Straight Alliance.

Heachan turned his attention to the dorks in the back. The class was supposed to be working on their essays, but the teacher had slipped out of the classroom to do some photocopying, so Heachan was free to talk to them.

Jaehyun was quite charming, making constant eye contact and smiling the whole time. He answered each question thoughtfully, with his head cocked on one side. Pink highlighter for him. His seat neighbour Lucas was absent that day, which left Johnny. He was somewhat of a puzzle, as he looked like a stoner, but got abnormally high marks.

But as Haechan was approaching Johnny, the teacher returned and levelled a stern look in his direction. Heachan went back to his seat and updated the yearbook. There were an awful lot of pink crosses.

When the bell went for recess, Johnny scurried away quickly, without speaking to the other dorks. Heachan gathered his books and followed him. The tall boy put his books in his locker and rummaged in his bag until he produced a Kit-Kat.

Ah. He’d read that low testosterone levels made lonely men more likely to crave sweets. This could be promising. Johnny wasn’t really bad-looking, now that Haechan thought about it. He was tall and slim, with brown hair hanging just below his ears that would look quite nice if he bothered to wash it. He had semi-bad skin, but he was a teenage boy, so who could blame him?Although that Kit-Kat wasn’t going to help.

Johnny  
Eye contact: Yes.  
Overt signs of shyness: Fidgety.

ME: So, Johnny. Do you have a girlfriend?

JOHNNY: (stares at interviewer)

ME: Are you going to answer?

JOHNNY: Uh, why are you asking?

ME: Just curious. Do you?

JOHNNY: Nope.

ME: Okay. Have you ever kissed a girl?

JOHNNY: What? That’s none of your business. Jesus.

ME: Does it make you feel uncomfortable to talk about girls?

JOHNNY: (tries to ignore the interviewer)

ME: Does talking to me make you uncomfortable?

JOHNNY: So, I’m gonna go to class. See you around. Bye!

ME: Hey, no! Wait!

**Verdict: Possibly guilty.**

Haechan’s first yellow-highlighter candidate! As he left the Medical Ethics Society meeting, he considered the possibility that Johnny might be BabyLion. He was certainly cagey. And he clearly didn’t want to talk to him. He could be BabyLion. Maybe.

But there were two girls in the photography class that Johnny was in, and it wasn’t exactly a big group. So he must have to interact with them sometimes. Maybe Heachan could talk to one of them. Ooh! Maybe one of them was the girl he liked, and that’s why he joined the photography class (because really, why else would you?).

The thing is Haechan had read BabyLion’s blog posts. He knew he was smart. He knew he was . . . poetic (or melodramatic). And Johnny just seemed too . . . ordinary. BabyLion was going to be a bit weird, but Johnny didn’t seem weird enough. He was just a dork. He was Heachan’s only lead, but he kind of hoped it wasn’t him.

The school canteen smelled like tomato sauce, hot dogs, deodorant and Teenage Boy. The floor was sticky underfoot from spilled cans of soft drink, and that late into the lunch hour, Heachan had to wade through piles of chip packets, sandwich crusts and empty bottles in order to find his way to a table.

“Haechan!”

It was amazing that someone with such a soft voice could make himself heard over the hormone-induced roar. Jaemin was sitting near the vending machines with the usual suspects: his basically foster child Jisung, who was carefully poking holes in his rice with a pair of chopsticks and, of course, Chenle, because the boy was basically glued to the latter.

Jaemin grinned and beckoned Heachan over.

“Hi,” Heachan said and pulled up a chair that had been kicked over at the next table, and sat down.

“So what are you doing this weekend?” Jaemin asked him after he sat down.

Haechan shrugged and said something about homework. His mind was in another place altogether, thinking about BabyLion and wondering if he was here, right now, in this room.

Perhaps Haechan should comment on his blog, instead of trapping him in German? But he didn’t want BabyLion to think he was stalking him. Their meeting had to seem more casual than that.

The bell rang for fifth period, and the canteen erupted into a storm of pushed-back chairs and groans and more rubbish. Heachan stood up, feeling a little tingly. This was it. He was about to meet BabyLion.

“See you on Friday! Sleepover, remember,” said Jaemin, smiling.

“Yeah,” Haechan said, not really listening. “See you.”

He let himself into German’s class about five minutes after the bell. He was supposed to be in Maths, but he could just lie and say that some meeting had gone overtime.

“It’s Haechan, right?” Ms Schmidt gazed at him from the whiteboard. “What can I do for you?”

“Guten Tag, Frau Schmidt,” Haechan said, using his entire German vocabulary all at once, and glanced at the class. Johnny was there. Front row. Haechan’s heart sank. BabyLion was Johnny.

“Haechan?”

'Uhh,' he turned back to Ms Schmidt. “I was wondering if I could do a quick survey of your class, for the students newspaper.”

“What kind of survey?” asked Ms Schmidt.

'Er,' Haechan said. “About . . . Condoms. Condom vending machines in the school toilets.”

Ms Schmidt frowned. “I’m sorry, Haechan,” she said. “But this is German class, not Biology.”

“What if they gave their answers in German?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, shaking her head. “We have important vocab to learn today.”

“Okay then,” he said, with one last desperate glance around the room. “Thanks.”

He shut the classroom door behind him and stood in the empty corridor. Johnny.

* * *

He’d been checking BabyLion’s blog all day to see if he made any mention of talking to him. If he was Johnny, surely he’d mention it. As soon as Haechan got home, he opened his laptop and a new post from BabyLion appeared in front of him.

_„Some mornings I wake up and I know that getting out of bed is just going to make it all worse. I’m so tired. This morning I told my mother that I wasn’t going to school. She wasn’t happy, but she couldn’t force me. I stayed in my room all day, because I knew she was in the house and I didn’t want to see her and feel like the worst son ever._

_Something is seriously wrong with me… I didn’t even want to go to church last Sunday. Somehow I just feel so guilty… I need to get my head straight, really. But I keep thinking about my crush and how it would feel like if we could just lie here together, on my bed. Just touching a little bit, nothing crude. Just being together. Safe from the world. I’m so stupid.“_

He hadn’t gone to school. He hadn’t been in his German class. BabyLion wasn’t Johnny! Thank goodness. Haechan read BabyLion’s post three more times before his phone made a noice.

2 messages from the group chat. Oh lord. Haechan sighed and closed his laptop, telling himself he could do more research tomorrow.

**Nana:**  
Look what we created while your sad ass is ditching us once again.  
[Image attached]

Haechan frowned and clicked on the picture. It showed Chenle and Jisung sitting at a table, bending over a large jigsaw puzzle. The picture on the box was a science-fictiony sort of thing: a bronzed man wearing a very short toga and sandals, face to face with a unicorn, with the Death Star in the background, all surrounded by pink hazy clouds. It was seriously the ugliest image in existence.

**Nana:**  
Isn’t it fabulous?

**FullSun:**  
It is many things, but fabulous is definitely not one of them.

**Big Head:**  
That’s the point! We’ve decided to try and find the ugliest jigsaw in the world. It’s going to be like a quest.

**FullSun:**  
I think the quest is over. Also... why?

**Jisung:**  
Don’t be so boring.

**Nana:**  
We’re inventing a scoring system. Puppies, kittens or any sort of baby animal scores five points. If the baby animal is in a bucket or flowerpot, or wearing a hat – that’s an extra ten points, and so on.

**FullSun:**  
I still don’t get it. You’re doing a jigsaw. On a Friday night. For fun.

**Big Head:**  
Do you want to help?

**FullSun:**  
Isn’t there some kind of nightclub or something you can go to? Don’t you want to engage in any kind of morally dysfunctional, risk-taking behaviour?

**Jisung:**  
Not really.

**Nana:**  
We ordered pizza btw!

**FullSun:**  
The really spicy Mexican one?

**Jisung:**  
With extra jalapenos.

**FullSun:**  
:(((((

**Nana:**  
Now you finally regret ditching us!

**Big Head:**  
It’s a tragic thing to see such a pretty boy stay home on a Friday night.

**FullSun:**  
Says the guy doing a jigsaw puzzle.

Haechan scowled and threw his phone on the couch. Damn his friends, he was having enough fun on his own. No dates needed. But to be honest, no one had ever asked him out. Not that he wanted to date any of the girls at his school – going on a date with a girl was absolutely the most boring thing he could imagine.

And the whole idea of dating was so antiquated anyway. Who went on dates anymore? As far as he could tell, teenagers nowadays just got drunk at parties and hooked up with whoever was closest.

Still. It would be nice to be asked occasionally. Just to push his ego, of course. But there was no need to rush because Heachan had all the time in the world for dating and stuff. And there were much more important things to focus on now, such as his story.

* * *

By Wednesday evening, he’d been searching for BabyLion for a week and a half. His yearbook was covered in pink highlighter, with the occasional hopeful splodge of green crossed out later.

He was exhausted. And he has no suspects. he’d even gone back to Ms Schmidt’s German class – or at least he’d tried to. Ms Schmidt had frowned at him and shut the door in his face. So there’s that.

The yearbook stared at Heachan, screaming his failure in great fluorescent slashes of pink highlighter. He shoved it into a drawer and turned off his computer. He then examined the contents of the fridge. Leftover Chinese food, a shrivelled avocado, half a watermelon, some yoghurt. Meh.

Unsatisfied he closed the fridge. He was giving up. No, not giving up. He was freeing up his time to pursue different goals. Yes. That was better. He hadn’t failed. Who wanted to read about some loser who couldn’t get a girl anyway?

He went back to his room and read a few chapters of Catcher in the Rye for English. Who needed stupid old BabyLion? There were other stories out there.

He switched off the light, but couldn’t sleep. His Dad had gone to bed and the apartment felt very quiet. Heachan turned onto his side. The sleep light on his laptop was pulsing on and off. Had BabyLion posted anything new? How was he feeling? Had he managed to talk to his crush?

He wasn’t going to check. He was abandoning that story. It was never going to go anywhere. But what if he’d said something that would help Heachan figure it out? The missing piece of the puzzle?

He was still out there. Still full of loneliness and suffering. BabyLion needed him. Heachan rolled out of bed and woke his laptop.

„_Today was bad. I was nervous and jittery all day, like I’d drunk too much coffee._  
_ The only time I felt calm was at lunch, when I could watch my crush. (Yeah, I know.. what a creep. But I can’t help it, okay? It’s like the sun… radiating so much light and beauty.. and okay, okay. I will stop.) So, my crush sat at the usual place with the usual group of friends. They were all looking at something on a mobile phone, passing it around and laughing._

_I hate mobile phones. The telephone’s the most stupid invention ever. I hate the way you can’t see the face of the person you’re talking to, so you have no clue whether they’re making fun of you, or listening at all. It’s hard enough talking to people in person. Although I suppose text messages might be okay. I like writing things down._

_I think I could say more in a text message to my crush than I could face to face. But I never will, because I don’t have the number. Maybe I could email something to my crush’s school email address. But then… that’s just so freaking embarrassing. Nevermind.”_

Haechan rolled his eyes. BabyLion really was a massive drama queen. He was just about to re-read it to see if it could really be as soppy as his initial impression, when Haechan noticed a little green online spot next to BabyLion’s name. He was online. He was there, in his own bedroom, sitting in front of his own computer, looking at the very same page on the very same website that Heachan was.

Without realising he was doing it, Haechan brought his cursor up to the “Message Me” link. A window popped open: Ask me anything!

Haechan could just ask him, right now, and get an answer to the whole thing. He placed his hands on the keyboard and noticed they were trembling. He swallowed.

**hey. Are you online? I need to talk to you. I think I can help.**

Haechan clicked on send. And then he waited. There was no reply. Maybe BabyLion was typing out an essay-length response. Or maybe he’d gone to the toilet. Or maybe he was too shy to say anything at all.

But then the little green spot disappeared. Haechan’d scared him away. He climbed back into bed, his mind full of mysteries and hidden faces.

* * *

On Friday, Haechan forgot the name of Othello’s wife in English, didn’t hear anything his teacher said in Biology, argued with the headmaster about the price of helium balloons for the social and bombed his Maths quiz (He was facing a B, a letter he was totally unfamiliar with). It was a total write-off of a day. Of a week, really. Stupid BabyLion.

The only good part of the day was lunchtime swimming practice, where he beat his personal freestyle record. But Haechan’s good mood was short-lived – He spent too long in the pool and didn’t have time for a shower before class.

When the bell rang at the end of a somewhat chlorine-scented final period, Haechan inwardly groaned with relief and traipsed to the train station. It was one of those afternoons that seemed warm and sunny, but where the wind was so icy it chilled his bones. Haechan shuffled from foot to foot on the platform and wished he’d worn a thicker sweatshirt.

A voice sounded over the PA, announcing that city-bound trains were delayed approximately fifteen minutes, due to a fallen tree on the tracks. This was hardly a promising way to begin his weekend.

Haechan trudged up the platform against the wind, and queued at the coffee cart, hoping that the warmth of the cup on his hands and the liquid in his mouth would override the disappointment of what he was sure would be a decidedly average cup of coffee.

„Yes, please?” Floral Apron was staring at him in a bored sort of way.

“A cappuccino, please,” Haechan said, while watching a guy standing close to the coffee cart.

He went to Haechan’s school. He was short and slim, with metal-rimmed glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He was wearing grey slacks and a white collared shirt with a black knitted vest. This boy was definitely Geek. He had earbuds in, and was clutching a thick novel in one hand and his disgusting bitter beverage in the other.

His face was surprisingly passable – he had heavy eyebrows and a strong jaw, but a small, freckled nose and quite feminine blue eyes. His cheeks were mottled red from the cold wind, and he bobbed his head up and down a little to his music, which made him resemble one of those bobblehead dolls.

Why hadn’t Haechan interviewed him? He studied the guy more carefully and realised he was in the year above him. But he did look very young.

SUBJECT UNKNOWN  
Eye contact: None.  
Overt signs: LOTS.

ME: Hey, um, excuse me?

HIM: (NO RESPONSE)

ME: Hey! There’s a couple of things I want to ask you.

(SUBJECT REMOVES EARBUDS WITH A DEGREE OF TREPIDATION.)

ME: Thanks. Hi, I’m Heachan. You’re in Year Eleven, right?

HIM: (NODS. FROWNS.)

ME: What’s your name?

HIM: (STARES)

ME: Are you deaf?

HIM: Ten. What do you want?

ME: Okay, so Ten, do you have a girlfriend?

(SUBJECT SHAKES HEAD AND BLUSHES.)

ME: Have you ever kissed a girl?

TEN: Screw you.

(SUBJECT RETREATS TO THE OTHER END OF THE PLATFORM.)

ME: Wait! I wasn’t finished.

(INTERVIEWER CATCHES UP.)

ME: Do you feel uncomfortable talking to girls?

TEN: (VEHEMENT) I’m not gay, you know.

ME: I never thought you were. I think you’re shy.

TEN: Get lost.

ME: I know everything about your little website, you know. Don’t be embarrassed. I will help you find a girlfriend, okay?

TEN: (FREEZES)

**Verdict: LIKELY GUILTY**

He’d found BabyLion!

“Just leave me alone, okay?” He still wasn’t making eye contact.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Haechan quickly made a mental list of things he’d need to fix about the guy. A haircut. New clothes. A nice smile and positive attitude.

Ten’s eyes darted around, searching for someone to rescue him. „What do you want?”

“I want to help you. I want to fix you.”

“I’m not broken, you freak!”

“Oh,” Haechan said, “I think you are. You totally fit the profile. I can tell you so much about yourself.”

Ten rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”

Haechan had been reading BabyLion’s tumblr for two weeks now, and was close to being an expert.

“Your favourite color is blue. You prefer watermelon to other kinds of fruits and you like sweet things. You can’t eat yoghurt. You like romantic comedies, but not romantic films. Your favourite season is fall. Your family is really religious but you struggle with your faith recently. You have a weird relationship with your mother. You’ve never felt comfortable around other boys. You hate science and math.”

Ten was shaking his head as though Heachan were crazy.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Haechan said.

“You’re wrong, idiot. I don’t like fruit at all. I’m an atheist. I love to be around boys, and I have an awesome relationship to my mum. I don’t know who you are obsessed with, but it’s not me.”

Haechan took a half-step back. How could that be? Ten didn’t fit the profile at all. “What about the rest?”

Ten sighed. “So I don’t have a girlfriend and I can’t with numbers,” he said. “Big deal. And what does this all have to do with your weird profile?”

This wasn’t going at all the way Haechan had planned. “Shut up, I’m asking the questions here. You do visit LoneyHearts.com, right?”

Ten looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “Once or twice,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I’m not like them. I just want to… get over a crush of mine, that’s all. I’m not a freak.“

„But you post on there all the time.”

  
“I’ve never posted anything on there.”

“But I’ve read it!” Why was he still lying? “You’re BabyLion!”

Ten froze for a moment, his face as shocked as if Haechan had said he was Superman. Then he began to laugh.

“What?”

“I’m not BayLion,” he said. “No way. I wish. Would make my life so much easier.”

What? There was another student on LoneyHearts.com? Was it possible?

„What do you mean, you wish? Do you know who he is?”

Ten looked confident, now he knew something that Haechan didn’t. “Yeah,” he said with a smug smile. “I know who he is. But why should I tell you?”

„I want to write a piece on this forum. I want to help BabyLion and document the whole process. It’ll be huge! It’ll bring the whole condition out into the open, get people like him the support they need.”

“They need,” said Ten. “I’m not one of them.”

“Then why did you go to the website?“

„I told you, I want to meet girls. Get a girlfriend to overcome my crush, you know. I thought someone on there might have some advice.”

“And did they?”

“No. They’re all a bunch of self-obsessed psychos. It makes me feel better though, knowing I’m not as crazy as them.”

That was true. Ten didn’t seem crazy to Haechan. He was finding him quite rude and obstructive.

“Tell me who BabyLion is,” he demanded.

“Why did you think he was me?” asked Ten, ignoring Haechan’s question.

Haechan told him about the yearbook and the coloured highlighters, and how he’d run out of Year Tens. Ten started to laugh again.

„How do you know who he is?” Haechan asked.

Ten shrugged. “He’s my crushes cousin. It wasn’t that hard to figure it out.”

„Tell me who he is!” Haechan said. “Or else I’ll never leave you alone.”

Ten seemed genuinely frightened by that idea, but he shook his head. “Look,” he said. “All I can tell you is . . . the yearbook was a good idea, but it’s a bit out of date.”

Out of date? What did that even mean? While Haechan was puzzling over it, Ten’s train pulled up and he took his opportunity to escape.

Haechan’s train arrived on the opposite platform, and he got on, still confused.

The yearbook was a good idea, but it’s a bit out of date.

It was last year’s yearbook. There wasn’t a more recent one. This year’s wouldn’t come out until December.

Something was niggling at the back of Haechan’s brain, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

It’s a bit out of date.

Maybe he’d give up on BabyLion. Ten clearly had plenty of problems. Haechan could focus on him. But it was BabyLion who’d got him into this whole thing, and Haechan wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d solved the mystery.

* * *

When Haechan arrived home, he threw his swimming towel into the washing machine and rinsed out his bathers. After homework he checked BabyLion’s tumblr account. There was a new message.

_“I had the most vivid dream last night. I was at this church camp, the one my parents sent me to when I was eleven, except I was sixteen and all the other kids were still eleven. The camp director explained that I hadn’t done it right the first time, and I was going to have to stay at the camp until I could learn to behave like a real boy. He took me to the edge of the lake, where there was a boating ramp. And he pushed me off the ramp into the cold water._

  
_ It was so cold, the coldest water I’ve ever felt. I sank down, down, lower and lower. I couldn’t move my arms or legs to swim to the surface. I just kept sinking, for what felt like hours. Then at the bottom of the lake there was this person, with beautiful rainbow hair and eyes the colour of the sea. I’m not sure if it was human or a mermaid. It swam around me, gently tangling me up with seaweed. And I felt like in a trance because they were so beautiful and…all of a sudden, I felt so happy.”_

Haechan sat there, staring at the screen until his eyes hurt. Who was he? With a sigh, Haechan switched off his computer and went to bed.

Then in the middle of the night Heachan woke up. He was a total and complete idiot. Of course the yearbook was out of date. He’d crossed off the boys who had left the school at the end of last year. But he hadn’t taken into consideration the new boys who had only arrived this year.

Well, new boy, actually. There was only one. The one who stared out the window in every class. Mark Lee.

* * *

MARK LEE? Really?

Mark Lee, the boy who was too cool to speak to anyone? Mark Lee, who dressed like an indie model and wore oversized headphones all day long?

He’d made one of the worst mistakes a journalist can make. He’d listened to those rumours about the mysterious girlfriend at another school, and believed them. And besides, Mark was handsome and from abroad and kinda too cool to be shy and desperate to date a girl. It just didn’t fit into the picture that Haechan had of Mark. So he hadn’t verified his sources. Every journalist would be disgusted with him.

After Haechan got over his initial disbelief, it started to make sense. Mark looked cool, sure. But it was all an elaborate smokescreen. That was how he got away with it. With his oversized headphones and hair that looked like it was super soft and those oversized hoodies, everyone just assumed he was cool. It was an utterly brilliant disguise.

Haechan would be careful, this time. He didn’t want to spook his subject. He’d watch Mark closely first. Get to know him better before he confronted him. Although Heachan felt as if he knew Mark well already, from reading his blog posts.

He was obviously a smart, sensitive guy, and all he wanted was to be loved. It seemed so unfair that he couldn’t have that. Especially since his looks certainly weren’t a barrier.

Mark Lee. Haechan still couldn’t quite believe it.

* * *

The weekend seemed to go on forever, yet Haechan didn’t achieve anything. He went over every single post BabyLion had ever written, reading each word in a new light now he knew his true identity. He spent hours staring at his Biology textbook, or at a blank Word document that was supposed to become his Othello essay for English.

Jaemin tried to get Haechan to go out with him and Chenji to see a new exhibition at the National Gallery, but he declined. Instead he did laps in the pool until he nearly passed out, the rushing of water in his ears and across his face reminding Heachan of BabyLion’s dream about the bottom of the lake.

What was wrong with him? Should a journalist become this involved in a story? Was he staying objective? Not that subjectivity was strictly forbidden in journalism.

Maybe, this was good. The deeper he got into this story, the better it would be, Heachan was sure of it. He didn’t want to write a dispassionate, clinical analysis. He wanted to write a feature article that would make people laugh, cry and award him a Pulitzer Prize.

And what could go wrong, really?

* * *

Monday morning found Haechan staring at his wardrobe, agonising over an outfit. What did you wear when you were secretly observing a very shy person? He didn’t want to stand out. Not that he ever did stand out – He was strictly a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy – but he felt that this morning’s sartorial choices required an extra level of consideration.

He didn’t want to be wearing anything that would spook or intimidate Mark. He needed to appear friendly and approachable.

After a mini-breakdown, Heachan decided to threw on his usual: a comfortable pair of jeans, plainish T-shirt, and sensible sneakers. There. That’d do.

He grabbed his notebook and left the house.

Observations on Mark Lee, aka BabyLion. Monday, 8:00 a.m.

Subject arrives at his locker. He’s wearing one of those 90s loose blue jeans, a long flannel shirt, his ubiquitous large headphones, and black Converse sneakers. He carries a blue backpack. Subject doesn’t make eye contact with other students in his vicinity. However, his casual gait and slouched posture make him seem aloof to his peers, rather than awkward and antisocial.

Haechan didn’t have English on Mondays, so he couldn’t observe Mark up close in class. He scoured the school grounds for him during morning recess, but the boy was nowhere to be found. How was Heachan supposed to observe and analyse his subject if he couldn’t even find him?

He fidgeted through the next two periods, and when the bell rang for lunchtime Heachan sprang from his seat and sprinted to the Year Ten lockers, where he spotted Mark pulling his lunch from his backpack before sauntering outside. Heachan followed at a distance, trying to appear nonchalant.

He felt quite like a stalker, watching Mark, waiting, subtly following him. He ended up on an isolated bench by the science building, overshadowed by a concrete stairwell.

The temperature had risen over the weekend, and it was quite hot in the sun. Being totally aware of the dangers of the sun in regards to dying of cancer, Heachan situated himself beneath a shady tree and watched Mark from across the courtyard. Not creepy at all.

1:07 p.m.  
Subject is sitting on a bench eating a sandwich. He’s balanced on the backrest of the bench, with his feet on the seat. His eyes are closed and his head is moving up and down slightly, I assume to the beat of the music pumping through his headphones.

Haechan wondered what Mark was listening to. If he had just the slightest hinge of taste probably Michael Jackson.

When Mark opened his eyes a crack and scanned the courtyard, Haechan quickly pretended to be absorbed with writing in his notebook. When he looked back up, Mark was staring at someone over to his right. Haechan followed his gaze. Was this her? Mark’s crush?

It was. She was a Year Nine girl. Her name was Wendy, and she was pretty, with her long brown hair (of course) and big smile. She was sitting with a group of other girls of mid-tier popularity, and Heachan could see why she was the perfect fantasy girl. Sweet, quiet, pretty, long brown hair.

But to Haechan she was kind of boring. She wasn’t smart, or funny, or rude, or irritating. He wanted to help Mark, he really did. But he wasn’t sure helping him hook up with his dream girl was going to work. He was too smart for her, too sensitive, too soft. Mark was baby boy culture and this girl would break his heart in five minutes.

Haechan looked back at him. He kinda did have a cute face. I mean with that slim nose and soft lips and all. Not that Haechan cared. Then he started and looked straight at Haechan, his usual mask of detached cool in it’s position.

This was going to be trickier than Haechan had thought.

* * *

Before going to sleep Heachan checked BabyLion’s Tumblr one last time. And surprise, surprise. A new post!

_22:00_  
_ Why is he watching me?_  
_ What does he want?_  
_ WHY?_

Haechan wasn’t at all sure how to approach Mark. He didn’t want to scare the boy off – so no Dictaphone app – but he also needed to be firm and direct from the outset. Maybe just doing it would be the best tactic. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Haechan decided to wait until lunch on Tuesday, so they’d have time to talk. He popped into his Debating meeting to let everyone know he’d have to skip this week, then headed into the courtyard to where Mark sat on his bench.

He was there, looking bored, as if they were all far, far beneath him and not worthy of his interest or attention. Heachan snuck up from behind so he couldn’t bolt.

“Mark.”

The muscles in his shoulders tensed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Probably to pretend that he was busy.

“Hello?” he said into his phone. Haechan had never heard his voice before. It was higher than he’d expected, but quite melodic. There was a faint tremor behind his carefully affected drawl.

„Wow,” Haechan said. “I guess I’d better wait until you’re off the phone. Luckily I’ve got all day.”

Mark slid off the bench and started to walk away. “Yeah, bro,” he said into the phone. “Uh-huh. Yeah.”

Haechan followed him. “Unless you’re not actually talking on that phone, of course.“

Mark veered off in a different direction and picked up his pace. Haechan walked faster so he drew up alongside him. Then he reached out and grabbed Mark’s phone.

Mark froze, his hand clasped to his ear where the phone had been.

Haechan pretended to talk into the phone. “Hi,”’ he said. “Do you think I could talk to Mark for a minute? It’s kind of important. You can call him back later.” He mimed listening, and then turned to Mark.

„Your bro says that’s fine, he’ll call you back this afternoon,” Heachan said, and examined the phone. “This thing isn’t even on. You’re not trying very hard.”

Mark didn’t move. He started at Haechan, his eyebrows frowning and his lips trembling a little. Kinda hot.

„Look,” Haechan said. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But my name’s Heachan and I really want to write a story on you. An article. About your condition.“

At the word condition, a shudder seemed to go through Mark. It was as though it unfroze him, because he clenched his fists and started to walk away, very fast.

“Hey!” Haechan said. “Your phone.”

Mark didn’t slow his pace or turn around. Heachan hurried after him, the phone in his hand.

Mark headed for the science labs and Haechan tailed him through a maze of portables, and round the corner of the soccer oval towards the Drama Centre.

„Stop,” Haechan said. “I just want to talk to you.”

Mark ignored him and Haechan followed him around a corner.

“Haechan!” It was Jaemin. He was alone, sitting at the bottom of the concrete stairwell that led up to the Drama Centre. He sprang to his feet, looking very pleased to see his friend.

“Um, hi,” Haechan said, pausing awkwardly, craning his neck to see which way Mark had gone.

„What are you doing?” Jaemin said.

This was the problem with having friends. It was all very well for us to hang out but Heachan was busy now. He didn’t want to be friends right now. But how was he supposed to explain that to Jaemin? Especially since Jaemin would tell everyone about his mission if he were to find out and he and the boys would probably annoy the heck out of him. Teasing was Haechan’s favourite thing to do, but he hated it when he was the victim.

„Actually,” Haechan said, “there’s somewhere I need to be. Talk to you late.”

“Where?”

Mark had totally disappeared from view. Heachan had lost him. “Huh?”

“Where do you need to be?”

“Oh, um . . .” Haechan looked wildly around for an excuse.

“It’s Mark Lee, isn’t it?”

Heachan stared at Jaemin. “What?”

Jaemin nodded. “You looked like you were following him.”

“No,” Haechan protested. “I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay. Everyone loves Mark Lee. He’s hot. I totally understand.“

Haechan wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t exactly deny that he’d been chasing Mark. There was only one thing for it. He swallowed and told himself it was all in the name of journalism.

„Yeah,” he said. “I do like him. He’s a…” Haechan took a deep breath and tried to sell it, “... hottie.”

„Okay. Have you tried talking to him like a normal person?”

“I tried to,” Haechan explained. “But he didn’t want to talk to me.”

Jaemin shook his head. “I hear he’s totally uninterested in dating.”

Haechan found this difficult to believe, so he didn’t reply.

“Oh!” said Jaemin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.“

„It’s okay,” Haechan said. “I know I don’t have a chance with him anyway.”

Not that he wanted Mark. And even if he did, he wasn’t really the ideal girl-crush concept because Haechan was – obviously – a boy. And Mark just didn’t seem the type. But maybe Haechan was mistaken… When Jaemin came out ot him a few years ago, he had been the only one who was surprised.

„Well,” Haechan shifted from one foot to the other. “I’d better go.”

Jaemin seemed to be upset. “Okay,” he said, in a tiny voice.

This was ridiculous. Haechan just wanted to leave and find Mark. But the boy was long gone now. He’d have gone underground, like a rabbit. Probably hiding in the boys’ toilets, and Jaemin seemed sad, and Haechan didn’t like the thought that he’s the cause of that sadness. Why was Jaemin sitting here alone anyway? Where were Chenle and Jisung?

Haechan’s watch told him there were only ten minutes until the end of lunch.

“Actually, I might stay for a bit,” he said.

Jaemin brightened. “Of course!”

Haechan sat down on the concrete step next to his friend. “So how come you’re not at the canteen?”

“Jisung’s got fever,” he said. “And Chenle is at his Dance Club meeting. And Jeno is . . . a bit hard to talk to at the moment.”

„Why?” Haechan asked absently, running over his confrontation with Mark in his head. What had he done wrong? How could he do it differently next time? More direct? Less direct? Maybe he could write him a letter?

Jaemin sighed. “He’s just a bit distant lately,” he said. “When we are in a group everything is totally normal but whenever we are left alone it’s weird.”

Haechan rolled his eyes. “But aren’t you like best friends or something,” he said. He had never been close to Jeno but he had noticed the two of them often hung out after school.

Jaemin shrugged. “I guess so.”

“I’m sure he will be back to normal in a week or so,” Haechan said.

Jaemin looked at him. “Yep. I hope so. I just wish I had someone else to hang out with, you know? Maybe even a boyfriend.”

Haechan nodded. He had no desire to date someone so he could absolutely not relate.

Jaemin sighed. “But it’s hopeless. Who would ever want to date a timid Asian boy like me?“

Haechan could think of a couple of candidates. One in particular. A twinkling of an idea flared in his brain.

* * *

That night BabyLion updated his Tumblr. And Haechan was not pleased with the post at all.

_“It’s as if he can read my thoughts. He knew I was faking it on my mobile phone and mocked me. It was awful. What an ass. I’m so scared something bad might happen again. I’ve got a good thing going at this school. People leave me alone, mostly. I don’t want to have to change schools again._  
_ LEAVE ME ALONE.“_

Heachan wanted to slap him. He was just so melodramatic. Didn’t he see how ridiculous and self-indulgent he was being? Couldn’t he just snap out of it? And what did he mean by something bad might happen again? Why had he left his old school?

* * *

Haechan couldn’t find Mark anywhere at school on Wednesday. Haechan guessed he’d scared him off. He spent the day checking his tumblr and LoneyHearts.com for new posts. In the end his teacher took his phone off him, with an apologetic look.

  
„You can have it back after school.”

Traitor. And after Haechan had helped her out by pointing out the spelling mistakes in the study notes she’d prepared.

He went home in a bad mood, and retreated to his bedroom. He needed to make Mark talk to him. And he would.

* * *

Haechan was waiting in front of Mark’s locker before the first bell went on Thursday, all ready to ambush him. But the moment the boy came around the corner and saw Heachan there, his face clammed up and he turned and left the building. He’d probably run straight home again.

Haechan’s bad mood returned, descending like a thundercloud. This was too hard. How was he ever going to get Mark to talk to him?

He slumped against Mark’s locker and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. There were plenty of people around, putting bags in lockers, pulling out books, and avoiding going to class assembly.

Yuta walked down the corridor with WinWin, looking as though he might burst with joy. Clearly he was head over heels. Jaehyun and Johnny emerged from the photography lab looking rumpled. Ten marched past, his arms full of rainbow-coloured bunting for the Gay–Straight Alliance Lamington Drive.

Haechan had spoken to all of these boys without a problem. What did he have to do to get Mark to open up? All his journalistic tactics were useless if he couldn’t get BabyLion to speak to him at all.

There had to be a way.

‘You’re looking rather pessimistic.”

It was Ten. Heachan was surprised the boy was speaking to him at all.

“I’m having a bad day,” he said.

“I’m having a bad life,” Then replied. “Wanna swap?”

Heachan looked up at him. He wasn’t shy at all. He was just a dork. But maybe Ten could help him get to Mark. And he might also be able to help him with his plans regarding Jaemin.

„Can I buy you a coffee?” he said. “Or whatever concoction of cream and sugar you would like to pretend is coffee?”

Ten looked wary. “Why?”

“I have a proposal,” Haechan said, standing up. “I think I can help you, if you promise to help me. Meet me after school.“

* * *

They went to a café near school that Heachan liked because it was dingy and atmospheric, and made him think of newspaper reporters leaking exclusives to each other. And also pirates. The bearded hipster behind the counter gave them a reproachful look when Ten ordered a peppermint-mocha whip with chocolate sprinkles. Haechan had his usual cappuccino.

Haechan decided to skip any small talk and went straight in. “I need your help,” he said. “Mark won’t talk to me.”

Ten raised his eyebrows. “So you figured it out.”

“That BabyLion is Mark? Of course I figured it out. But now he won’t talk to me.“

„You frighten him.”

“But I’m trying to help him,” Haechan said. “I’m not like those girls. I’m not trying to get into his pants.”

Ten spooned sugar into his coffee. “Are you sure about that?”

“Are you kidding? Mark’s totally neurotic.“

Ten just raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Haechan observed him carefully. He was a good few inches shorter than him, and the freckles on the bridge of his nose were kind of cute, if you went for that sort of thing. He wasn’t a total lost cause. It was just the angry attitude that was going to repel the ladies.

„Why did you say I wish, when I asked if you were BabyLion?” Haechan asked.

Ten licked sugary foam from his spoon. “It’s a long story,” he said. “I am kinda in a dilemma. I have a hopeless crush on a friend who will never like me back. Mark’ got a lot more to work with than I do. All he needs to do is get over himself.“

Haechan considered mentioning something about pots and kettles exchanging words, but decided against it. “What do you want, Ten” He asked instead. “If you had one wish.”

He answered immediately, without thinking, “A boyfriend.”

„That’s nonsense,” Haechan said. “That’s just what romantic comedies and pop songs have brainwashed you into believing.”

Ten rolled his eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

Haechan didn’t have anyone. Was he unhappy? He didn’t think so. Maybe he’d fall in love one day, but he had so much to do before then. He didn’t want to mess around with dating and all that nonsense. What a total waste of time. He wasn’t going to date someone who he didn’t think he’d last with. So he preferred to wait until he found the right person, and then fall in love, once he’d established himself as an internationally successful journalist.

But Ten looked like he really wanted this.

„So what do you think is stopping you from getting a boyfriend?” Haechan asked.

Ten shrugged in a very emo way. “Everything,” he said. “The fact that I’m in an idiot. My crush will never like me back and yet I can’t give up hoping...”

„I like you,” Heachan said, trying to sound as if he meant it.

“No, you don’t.”

Ten was probably right. Haechan didn’t really know him, but he disliked his defensive angriness, but did that mean that he disliked him? Haechan decided to change the subject.

“I think I can help you,” he said.

„How?”

Haechan didn’t want to tell him he could get him a date with Jaemin, because he didn’t know if it was true. What if Jaemin wasn’t interested in Ten? He wasn’t exactly the catch of the day.

“I need you to help me first,” he said.

Ten shook his head. “You have to put something on the table,” he said. “Otherwise I’m going home to watch porn online.”

Haechan thought about it for a second. “You can go on a date with me,” he said. “Like a rehearsal-date.”

Ten seemed offended. “I don’t want to go out with you.”

“Why not?” Heachan asked. “What’s wrong with me?”

Ten shrugged. “You’re bossy,” he said. “And you’re not my type.”

„You don’t seem very shy now,” Heachan observed.

“It’s because I’m not attracted to you.”

Haechan had almost had enough of this. “Fine,” he said. ‘What if I take you to Jaehyun’s birthday party next week? You can meet new people, hang with the cool crowd.’

Ten looked like a dog who’d been offered a terrifying yet enticing bone. “What do you want in return?”

“I want you to help me talk to Mark.”

“How?”

Haechan smiles. “Let that be your problem. You must know how he thinks. You’ll know how I can get to him.”

Ten gazed at him for a moment. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“Great,” Haechan said. “So what do I do?”

“Buy me a doughnut.”

Haechan gave him a flat look, but went to order a doughnut, plus another coffee for himself. He sat back down, staring at Ten expectantly.

“Well?”

The waitress brought over his doughnut, and Ten took a bite. “Well,” he said, his mouth full. “First you need to be less intimidating.”

“How?“

“Just try to be less– you,” Ten sighed and stared at Heachan. “Seriously,” he said. “You’re a very intimidating person.”

“Because I’m smart?”

Ten shook his head. ‘Because you’re intimidating. You’re loud and bossy, and you talk a lot but don’t seem to do much listening. You think you’re the best at everything, which is probably true. But that doesn’t make you any less intimidating.“

Haechan’s cheeks grew hot. “I’m not bossy!” he said. “I just like things to be done properly. It’s not my fault that nobody else pays enough attention.”

“Whatever.” Ten shrugged.

“And I do listen! I’m a journalist – part of my whole reason for existing is to listen to people’s stories and then share them with the world!”

Ten nodded in what Heachan felt was a patronising way. He wasn’t bossy and intimidating. Was he?

„Just tell me what I can do to get Mark to talk to me,” Heachan said, glaring at Ten.

“Fine,” said Ten, and leaned forward. “You have to get into his friend zone.”

“His friend zone? Please explain.”

Ten’s face clouded over, as if he was forcing him to talk about something that distressed him. “It’s when someone stops viewing you as a potential partner, and sees you as just a friend. It’s a curse.”

„A curse? Why? What’s wrong with being someone’s friend?”

“Once you’re in the friend zone, you never get out.”

Haechan laughed. “Are you serious? Heaps of people who are friends end up together. It happens all the time.”

“Nope. Once you’re in, you’ll never get out.”

Haechan frowned. “But how are you supposed to get to know someone before dating them then? This is just nonsense.”

„Believe me, don’t believe me,” said Ten, finishing his doughnut and licking his fingers. “I don’t care.”

Haechan sighed. ‘So what does this have to do with Mark?”

„If you’re in his friend zone, he won’t be scared of you anymore.”

„Okay,” Haechan said. “But I’m a dude, right? Wouldn’t he like just think of me as a friend anyway? And more importantly, how do I get into Mark’s friend zone?”

“He could be bisexual or gay. We don’t know that,” said Ten. “I guess you have to find a way to talk to him that completely removes all aspects of romance.“

„Right,” Haechan said. “That shouldn’t be hard, given that I have no interest in pursuing either romance or sex with him.”

Ten nodded. “You just have to figure out how to let him know that.”

* * *

Haechan thought about his plans for all the way home, and when he came up with a good idea, he decided to visit Jaemin.

He walked straight past his apartment, and knocked on his friend’s door. He heard a burst of Korean inside, and the sound of bare feet padding towards the door.

“Haechan!” Jaemin seemed disproportionately happy to see him.

“Hey,” he said. “I just came by to see what you’re doing over the weekend.”

Jaemin shot a look back into his apartment. “Hang on,” he hissed. “We can’t talk here.”

He pushed Haechan back into the corridor and followed him out, closing the door behind himself. “My parents,” he reminded Heachan. “Very strict.”

“Right,” Heachan said. “Well, Jaehyun is having his birthday party on the weekend, and I thought you might like to come along.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up. “Jaehyun said I was invited?”

“Hee did indeed,” Heachan lied. Not that he was invited either.

Jaemin looked as though he might burst. “That’s so exciting!” he said. “I’ll have to tell my parents something. I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Oh my God, what am I going to wear? Who else is going? Will there be dancing? Oh, and you have to stay for dinner.”

Heachan blinked. That was a lot to take in all at once. Jaemin opened the door to his apartment and dragged Heachan in after him.

“Take off your shoes,” he said, and pointed to a rack of shoes by the door. Heachan slipped off his sneakers and put them carefully on the rack.

Jaemin took Heachan into his bedroom. It was covered with posters of anime and manga characters, and soft toys and figurines. They spent the afternoon chatting, playing games and laughing. It was actually quite nice.

* * *

_ „I don’t like the bright sun, or the shock of cold water. I’ve been thinking about that church camp my parents sent me on when I was eleven. As soon as I arrived, I hated it. On that first afternoon, we were all told to change into our bathers. The water was cold. So cold that when it lapped around my feet, I shivered and my toes ached. But I wanted to go in. It would just take some time. It always takes time, because I’m sensitive to the cold. So I eased myself in, little by little. Inch by inch. But the other boys laughed at me and called me a pussy and a faggot. I didn’t care, I was used to it. I just ignored them and kept inching in. But they wouldn’t go away. They came closer and splashed me. Every splash was like sharp blades raking across my body. I screamed at them to leave me alone. It didn’t work. They got rocks from the lake shore and threw them at me. Hard. I got out of the water and ran for the cabins. It was hot for the rest of the camp, but I wore long sleeves every day to hide the bruises. I didn’t go swimming again. I never went swimming again.“ _

* * *

Friday was the swimming carnival. Everyone dressed in their house colours and stood on the sidelines and cheered. Heachan’s house was white (white? Who ever heard of a white school house?), and it was always difficult to think of a costume theme.

There were only so many times you could all dress up as angels, so this year they’d decided to come as doctors and asylum patients in straitjackets. All the non-swimmers wore white face-paint and scary panda-eyes, and our house cheer was If we don’t win, we’ ll bite off your arms and legs!, which at least was different.

Haechan won his first few races easily, which was no surprise. He has been swimming competitively since he was eight. Plus he’s got a good strong mindset and doesn’t allow himself to be distracted during a competition.

Except for today. All the time Heachan was waiting for his races, he kept an eye out for Mark. The whole school was supposed to attend the carnival, but it would be pretty easy to wag and stay home.

The carnival was finishing with the relay that would decide which of the four houses got the Swimming Cup. Haechan hated relays – the other people in the team rarely had the same level of commitment as he did. Luckily, as with Debating, he swam last, so he’d at least have an opportunity to fix any disasters perpetrated by his team members.

As he was standing in line waiting for the starting pistol to fire, Heachan scanned the seats around the pool for Mark.

And there he was.

The new 25-metre pool and aquatic centre had been built last year, and it still smelled of paint under the chlorine. Mark was sitting up the very back of the raked seating, away from everyone else.

Haechan could tell he was watching the pool. The starter gun sounded and the backstrokers kicked off. Jaehyun made good time and almost caught up to Minhyuck.

But as Haechan bent his knees, ready to dive, he automatically glanced up to Mark. As if he could feel Heachan watching, the boy’s head swung around to him, and with a start, Mark got to his feet and made his way down the aisle – not towards the crowds, but towards the fire exit.

Haechan’d spooked him again. But he couldn’t let Mark get away this time. Jaehyun touched the edge of the pool and Heachan dove over his head into the water. He had to finish the race quickly so he could catch up to Mark.

He swam as he’d never swum before, cutting through the water like a knife. His tumble turn was perfect. With every stroke he imagined Mark taking another step towards the door. Heachan practically flew through the water, taking in great gulps of air on alternate sides every three strokes and focusing on his six-beat kick.

As he touched the end of the pool, Heachan stuck his head up out of the water and searched for Mark, ignoring the cheers and yelling around him. Mark was nearly at the exit.

Heachan’s teammates whooped and screamed his name. He knew he’d won, but he didn’t care. This was his chance. He had to get to Mark. He hauled himself out of the water and ran towards the boy, stepping as carefully as he could so he wouldn’t slip.

“Haechan”, said his swimming teacher. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Haechan!”

Haechan waved at her in an I’m fine sort of way, and kept going. Water streamed off his hair and arms, and he left water-footprints with every step he took.

He slipped through the fire exit door just as it swung closed after Mark. The boy strode across the quadrangle, empty but for a few chip packets and aluminium cans.

“Mark!” Heachan made sure he didn’t call out until he was close enough that Mark couldn’t bolt. He was trapped between the stairs to the library and the bike sheds.

Mark looked down, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Hey,” Haechan said. “Calm down. I only want to talk to you. I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day. I want to apologise.”

Apologies weren’t easy for Haechan at the best of times, and this time it wasn’t even true, because he hadn’t done anything wrong! But Mark continued to stare at the ground and do that weird thing with his fists.

“Just leave me alone.”

Well, at least he’d spoken to him. That was a step in the right direction.

“Hey,” Haechan said. “Chill out. You don’t have to be shy with me. And there’s no one else around, they’re all inside.”

Heachan put his hand on Mark’s shoulder and felt him convulse slightly. He snatched his hand back. Of course Mark’d freak out when he touched him.

Mark stared at Heachan, his face a mask of horror. All the cool aloofness fell away and Heachan saw how utterly terrified the boy was.

The look of horror got worse, and Mark’s trembling more intense, then his mouth sort of twisted. And then Heachan was covered in something wet, warm and foul-smelling.

“Oh God,” Mark said.

When you’ve just been vomited on, all over your chest, it’s hard to know what to say. Heachan was grateful Mark’d bent over as he’d done it, so it hadn’t hit his face.

Haechan stood before Mark Lee, in his bathing clothes, dripping with pool water and spew.

„Well,” he said, as a chunk of what appeared to be half-digested gummi bear dripped off his chest and landed on his big toe. “I know that you didn't like me, but I didn’t know you were so repulsed by me!“

„S-sorry,” Mark said, so softly Haechan could barely hear him, as he half turned away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry.“

Haechan thought about his conversation with Ten the other day. There was vomit between his toes. The smell was making his eyes water. If ever there was a situation where romance and sex weren’t options, this was it. It was time to put himself in Mark’s friend zone.

“Make it up to me,” he said. “I’m going to have a shower, and you’re going to wait here. Then when I get back, you and I are going to have a chat. Nothing serious. I just want to talk to you.“

Mark didn’t say anything.

“You owe it to me,” Haechan said. ‘What you had for breakfast is currently dripping onto my toes.”

Mark jerked his head in what looked like a flinch, but just might be a nod. Haechan took that as a yes, and sprinted off to the showers. His team members were there, wrapped in damp towels, huddled together and talking quietly.

“Haechan!” Jaemin took a step forward, then wrinkled his nose. “Are you okay?”

Heachan nodded. “I just need a shower.”

“What happened?” asked Renjun, glaring.

Jaemin shh’d him. “What d’you think happened?” he said, gesturing at Heachan. “He was sick. Did you want him to throw up in the pool?“

Haechan blinked, and was about to tell them it wasn’t his vomit, when he realised why they were all so annoyed. He’d won the race, but he’d got out of the pool before the race was over.

“We were disqualified?” he asked, and Jaemin looked down at the floor and nodded.

It wasn’t fair. He’d won the race fair and square. He was a better swimmer than all the rest of them put together. What if he really had been sick? It was a stupid rule.

“‘Maybe if we talk to the teacher,” suggested Jeno, “and explain that Haechan was sick...“

„It’s too late,” snapped Renjun. “They’ve already awarded the Swimming Cup and medals.”

What did he want from him? Haechan wasn’t going to apologise for being sick. If it hadn’t been for him, there was no way they would have won anyway, so they’d be in exactly the same position. Well, maybe they’d have been in second or third position instead of disqualified, but what did that matter? Winning was the only important thing when it came to racing.

Mark would be waiting for him. He didn’t have much time.

“I’m still not feeling great,” Haechan lied. “I might just have a shower and head home.”

Jaemin looked at him with concern as Renjun stomped off to get his bag. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No,” Haechan said. “I’ll be fine.“

* * *

If Haechan was honest with himself, he wasn’t expecting Mark to wait. It’d be easy for Mark to slip away while he was washing bile from between his toes.

But he didn’t slip away. When Heachan emerged, pink and clean in tracksuit pants and a hoodie, Mark was sitting on a bench at the edge of the quadrangle. He was perched up on the back of the bench with his feet on the seat, as he had been the other day.

“Here,” Heachan said, and held out Mark’s phone, which he’d been keeping in his bag.

Mark didn’t move. Heachan put the phone on the bench beside his feet.

“You waited,” Heachan said. “Thank you.”

Mark made a shrugging, nodding gesture.

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

No response, which Haechan took as a yes. He sat. He didn’t look directly at Mark, because he didn’t want to spook the boy, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Mark was trembling.

“From the outset,” Haechan said, “I want to reiterate that I’m not interested in any kind of relationship with you. My interest is purely professional.”

Best to get that out in the open. It might help Mark let his guard down.

“So,” Haechan said. “I think you have a problem. I think I know what it is. And I think I might be able to help you.”

Mark didn’t say anything.

“You’re shy. You seem all cool and aloof on the outside, but it’s just a mask.”

Haechan touched him gently on the arm, and Mark pulled away as if he’d given him an electric shock. Don’t touch. Check.

„I’m sorry,” Mark said. “I just don’t think I can—”

“It’s okay,” Haechan said. “Take as long as you need. You’ll find I’m pretty patient. I’m not going anywhere.“

It took about ten minutes. Heachan wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mark?”

He flinched, raising his head and wiping his eyes. “I thought you’d go.”’ His breath came in shallow panting gasps, like a dog on a hot day.

Haechan grinned. “Told you I was patient.“

Mark straightened up. “Why are you here?” He didn’t look at Heachan.

“I know you have a problem,” Haechan explained. “I’m a journalist, you know. I did my research.”

Haechan didn’t want to tell Mark that he knew he was BabyLion. It might compromise the honesty of his blog posts if he knew Heachan was reading them. It felt sneaky and nosy, but it wasn’t as if Heachan were reading his diary. It was a public blog, on the internet for all to see. Surely on some level Mark wanted people to read it. Otherwise he’d just write in a journal.

“That...” Mark swallowed, then forced himself to speak. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Fair enough. “I want to be a famous journalist,” Heachan said. “I think your condition is fascinating, and I’d like to write a story about you. I’m pretty sure I could sell it to a real newspaper.”

Mark looked as if he was about to explode, or possibly vomit again.

“Don’t worry,” Haechan added hastily. “I’d change your name, and nobody would ever know it was you. But I think it would help you.”

“How?”

“You’ll get to talk to me,” Haechan said. “A lot. And I’m a expert. I know about your condition so I can practice with you. I can help you get a girlfriend.”

Mark was quiet for a minute, but Haechan could see the boy was thinking about it.

„What would I have to do?” he said at last.

Haechan shrugged. “Tell me about yourself.”

Another long pause. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Tell me about your family. Do you have any siblings?”

Mark shook his head.

“Me neither. See? We have something in common.”

Mark seemed to think over the whole idea for a while, then he hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I can do this.“

“Don’t you want to be able to talk to girls?”

Mark’s head turned, and he didn’t quite look at Heachan, but it was pretty close. ‘Of course I do,” he said, with a vehemence that was unexpected. “‘I want it more than anything.”

“So let me help you.”

Mark’s face twisted, as though he was in pain. “There’s—”

He broke off, and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. He was shaking again, his breath coming in those little shallow pants. Heachan saw his knuckles go white as he gripped the bench. He’d gone all pale.

“Mark? Are you okay?”

He screwed up his eyes, and in one explosive breath he managed to speak out loud, in a tangle of words.

“There’s a girl. I like a girl.”

Haechan gave him a minute to let his breathing calm down.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. Can you tell me something about her?”

Mark seemed to relax a little, but he didn’t open his eyes. “She’s beautiful. She’s gentle and kind and cute.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She is.” Mark’s face clouded over. “But it’s useless. I’ll never be able to speak to her, let alone ask her out.”

Haechan gave him a flat look. “You’ve been watching too much daytime television. Just be yourself, man.”

“But I don’t know who I am,” said Mark hopelessly.

“Nonsense,” Haechan said. “You just have to trust me. I can totally help you. I can help you talk to your crush.”

Mark tensed again. “It’s Wendy Shon.”

Haechan laughed. “She’s the perfect girl for a shy guy. Petite, pretty, long hair…”

“How do you know so much about… my condition?”

Haechan nearly said your blog, but caught himself just in time. “I read a book,” he said, which was also true.

“D-do you know her?” Mark asked. “Wendy?”

Haechan could run into trouble here. He didn’t want to tell Mark he thought his chosen bride was boring and not very bright.

“A little,” he said. “Not very well. She seems nice.”

Mark sunk into a reverie that probably involved walking Wendy down the aisle or rescuing her from the jaws of a crocodile.

“Do you think maybe I could write her a letter?”

“Who?”

“Wendy. I-I could say it all in a letter. Better than I ever could in real life. In real life I’ll just fall over and die. Or throw up on her.”

“Yeah,” Haechan said. “Don’t throw up on her. Not everyone’s going to be as forgiving as me about that.”

A teeny smile flickered across Mark’s face. “So?” he said. “A letter?”

Haechan thinks about it. “I don’t know. What would you say in a letter?”

“How I think about her all the time. How I think she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. How I want to be with her always.”

“Um,” Haechan said. “Maybe don’t lead with that.”

“Why not? It’s poetic.”

“It’s creepy. If someone who’d never spoken to me before sent me a letter saying those things…”

“What?”

“I’d think they were a stalker. Or a serial killer. Or at the very least a bit of a weirdo.”

“I am a bit of a weirdo. But I’m not a stalker. Not really. And definitely not a serial killer.”

  
“I think you need to have had some real contact with Wendy before you profess your eternal love for her.”

“But how can I do that? I can’t do it at school. There’s too much else happening. Someone else might see. A teacher might see.”

Haechan blinked. “Who cares if a teacher sees?”

“‘It’d be way too embarrassing.”

“What if you saw Wendy outside of school? In a more social situation?

Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I still think I’d be too anxious.”

“But it’d be better, right? Than doing it at school?”

He shrugged his shoulders miserably.

Haechan smiled. “What are you doing next Saturday night?”

“Nothing. Like every other night.” He sighed, and Heachan imagined him sitting in his bedroom, night after night, gazing out the window at the world going on without him.

Heachan shuddered. “Well, now you are,” he told Mark. “‘It’s Jaehyun’ birthday party, and you’re coming with me.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Haechan said. ‘It’ll be fun.”

Mark clammed up. The hesitant, curious expression that had crept over his face was replaced with stony blankness.

“Come on,” Heachan said. “How do you expect to get better if you don’t try? You do want to get better, don’t you?”

‘I’ll never get better.’

‘Wendy will be there.’

He hesitated.

‘You could talk to her,’ Haechan said. ‘It might be easier in a non-school environment. No teachers to see you.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’d say the wrong thing. I’d do something dumb. I’d have a panic attack in front of everyone.’

‘But don’t you see?’ Haechan said. ‘That’s what you’re supposed to do at parties!’

‘Have a panic attack?’

‘Do dumb stuff. Say the wrong thing. Do whatever you’ll regret the next morning. Everyone else will be doing it too, except they’ll be really drunk so they’ll probably throw up at the end of the night. And you’ve already got that bit out of the way.’

‘No.’

‘Just promise me you’ll think about it?’

‘I said no!’ Mark’s voice cracked hysterically. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to be me. You can’t just waltz in, give me a makeover, take me to a party and I’ll suddenly realise how beautiful I am. This isn’t some cheesy ’80s teen film – it’s my life, and nothing in it is going to change. So just leave me alone.’

He stumbled off the bench, and ran away.

* * *

Over the weekend, Haechan read a research paper from the University of Seoul about an experiment with rhesus monkeys. Scientists isolated baby monkeys to prevent them from playing with other monkeys. When these monkeys grew up, they turned out to be totally incapable of reproducing on their own. Not because they were sterile, but because the female monkeys wouldn’t let the males anywhere near them.

So the scientists artificially inseminated the shy female monkeys. But when they gave birth, they didn’t recognise their young as babies. They stomped on the babies, threw them against the walls of the cage, and in some cases tried to eat them.

He thought about Mark and his freaky ideas about relationships, but maybe he was just a spoiled brat gone wrong. A dysfunctional family might begin to explain his problems, but Heachan couldn’t just assume that his family was screwed up. He needed to meet them.

He was going to have to put in a bit more work before he’d score an invitation for a playdate though. Especially given that after their first proper conversation Mark had told him to leave him alone and run away.

Still. He’d talked to Mark, and Mark had talked back. He’d seemed . . . almost normal, except for the part where he threw up on him and the part where he’d cried for ten minutes and all the parts where he came across as a totally creepy stalker. But there had been moments when he seemed normal.

There had been moments when it was as if they were two friends, hanging out. And Haechan had enjoyed that. He knew he was there for a purpose; he was mentally taking notes for his article the whole time. But he’d also had fun, just chatting.

He spent most of the weekend recording his recollections and observations from their first meeting. He also made two lists, one of questions to ask Mark about his family and upbringing and thoughts about stuff, and the other of possible conversation starters he could use to make Mark more comfortable with talking to girls on a casual basis.

It was a productive weekend; Haechan even managed to squeeze in a little homework – although it probably wasn’t up to his usual standard – as well as help Jaemin do a jigsaw of a squid drawn in tiny coloured rhinestones. The only thing Haechan didn’t get around to was his oboe practice, but he was a good enough sight-reader to get by in rehearsal.

He noticed Mark hadn’t mentioned the vomiting incident on his blog. Heachan guessed even he had a reputation to maintain.

On Sunday evening Haechan sat at his computer to do some solid work on the  
article.

_What is Mark’s condition? Is it just shyness? Is it a disease? A collection of complicated phobias and mental illness? Or just a convenient excuse for antisocial behaviour? This investigation will examine its characteristics and symptoms, and chart the progress of a genuine victim – through my initial stages of contact with the subject to a process of rehabilitation and eventually a cure._

Haechan sighed. How was he going to cure Mark? Conversation starters were all very well, but he had a feeling he’d need something more. The book he’d read had mentioned stuff like ‘practice-dating’ and ‘coeducational living’, but it all seemed pretty ineffectual. There was also a website devoted to ‘sexual surrogacy’, which was downright frightening.

Then a whole bunch of posts on the love-shy forum suggested this creepy dating strategy that turned the whole process into a game, with stupid acronyms and everything. Men were supposed to deploy sleazy tricks such as pulling a girl’s hair or saying negative things about her in order to emotionally manipulate her into hooking up with them. Haechan wasn’t sure if it was misogynistic and sinister, or just pathetic.

At eleven, he turned off his computer, totally grossed out. He was going to need to find his own approach to help Mark.

* * *

At recess on Monday, Taeil followed Haechan back to his locker from Maths, badgering him about the budget for the school social. Hechan noticed that the Walt Whitman paperback had been replaced by a new book of poems by Walter Dean Myers. He’d assumed that the Whitman was for an assignment, but maybe Taeil actually liked poetry?

“Jisung says his cousin’s band is really good,” Taeil said.

Haechan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he said. “I’m not spending two hundred and fifty dollars to have a bunch of stoners drool and shake their hair around on stage. We should be spending the money on something important, like converting the gardens to sustainable native flora, or a new water tank....”

He trailed off. Mark was standing in front of Haechan's locker, headphones on, looking cool.

“Then what do you suggest?’ asked Taeil. “There’s a kid in Year Nine who is apparently a really good DJ. He might do it for fifty dollars.”

Haechan stared at Mark.

‘Haechan?’ said Taeil. ‘Hello?’

‘Yeah,’ Haechan said, still staring at Mark. ‘The DJ. Fine.’

Taeil sighed and stalked away.

‘Hey,’ Haechan said to Mark.

He nodded and looked down at the floor, scuffing his sneakers against the linoleum.

‘Do you want to go outside?’ Haechan asked.

Another nod.

They found a bench outside, away from the recess crowds.

Mark took a deep breath. ‘I-I’m sorry I yelled at you,’ he said. ‘I know— Sometimes I can get . . . a bit melodramatic.’

Haechan thought about his overblown blog posts. ‘That’s okay.’

‘I’m just not used to talking to . . . people.’ It was as though every word he spoke was causing him pain, and he had to pull them out of his mouth like splinters.

‘I understand,’ Haechan said. ‘I know it’s difficult for you. But it’s good you’re trying.’

Mark sighed, and then words started to tumble out, faster and faster. ‘Sometimes I can look at myself and see that I’m being ridiculous, that it’s all just willpower and I can change if I want to. If I want it hard enough. But other days everything’s dark, and I feel like I’ll never find my way out.’

He stopped, shocked that he’d said so much.

‘I get it,’ Haechan said. ‘And I want to help you.’

Mark rocked back and forth a little and tilted his head up to the sky. ‘I don’t think you can,’ he said to the clouds. ‘It’s just all too much. Too hard.’

‘Just try,’ Haechan said. ‘For a few days. See how it goes.’

Mark swallowed audibly, but didn’t say anything. It was better than an outright no.

Haechan found Mark at lunchtime that day, and the next day. Jaemin and the others could do without him for once. They had a break from swimming practice, after the carnival, and he wagged Orchestra and avoided the teachers in the corridors.

Mark was starting to seem less anxious around him. His breathing was normal and he no longer trembled and dripped with sweat whenever Haechan sat next to him.

Heachan was sure if Mark could go to a social event such as a party and see that it wasn’t the big deal he thought it was, he’d relax. And maybe even pluck up the courage to talk to Wendy. Then he’d realise she was kind of boring, and Haechan could move on his as-yet undefined plan to really fix his problem.

But Mark remained adamant that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Wendy, because he’d be too anxious.

‘Anxious about what?’ Haechan asked, on Wednesday afternoon. ‘What do you think is going to happen? What could happen that would be so very bad?’

‘Everything,’ said Mark. ‘She might laugh at me, or tell everyone and they would laugh at me. And then every day for the rest of my life I’d think of it, and burn with shame, right into the depths of my soul.’

‘Okay,’ Haechan said. ‘What if you only had six months to live? And your doctor told you that for those six months, your lifestyle wouldn’t be compromised in any way by your health. Would you talk to her then?’

Mark shook his head. ‘No way. I’d still be too anxious.’

‘So you’d just sit in your room and do nothing?’

Mark leaned forward so his chin rested on his hands. ‘I’d steal my father’s credit card,’ he said. ‘ And I’d run away.’

Haechan frowned. ‘Really? You would steal from your parents? You don’t want to win the lottery or something?’

‘I’ve never bought a lottery ticket. I’d never win. I’m too unlucky.’

‘But this is a hypothetical fantasy,’ Haechan said. ‘You can win the lottery if you want.’

Mark simply shrugs.

‘Okay, then,’ Haechan said. ‘Where would you run away to?’

‘Everywhere. I’d travel around the world. I’d stroll along the canals of Venice, and climb the Eiffel Tower, and walk on the moors in Scotland. I’d go to galleries and museums all over Europe. I’d go to London and see every musical showing in the West End, apart from the ones that have music from Queen or ABBA.’

‘Alone?’

Mark nodded. ‘Alone.’

‘That’s sad.’ Haechan didn’t mean sad as in lame. He meant it made him sad to think about Mark in all those romantic places, surrounded by couples, but always alone.

‘Why?’ Mark asked. ‘What would you do if you only had six months to live?’

Haechan thought about it. And the more he thought about it, the sadder he felt. Because if he was truly honest with himself, he’d do exactly the same thing.

At least he wouldn’t steal Dad’s credit card. And he’d probably go to different places (well, maybe the Scottish moor. And Venice. But definitely not the musical theatre). But he’d want to travel. he’d want to see everything he possibly could before he died. And he’d be alone just like Mark.

Because he knew that if anyone else was with him, they’d want to do different things. And see different things. And so he wouldn’t ever get to have his perfect overseas trip. Everything would be a compromise. He supposed that was what being in a relationship would be like. Always compromising. Maybe it was better to be alone.

_18:31_  
_ I hate being at school, but I’ve come to hate being at home more. Every day is the same, and the longer I spend in the house, the worse it gets. I lose my appetite, I can’t sleep. I get so tired I can’t concentrate on anything for more than five minutes, but I still can’t sleep. I don’t talk to anyone for days, not even my parents. I end up walking just to get away from everyone and everything._

_I walk every day, all the time. Round and round our block, so many times I’m surprised there isn’t a groove worn by my feet. I count the steps as I walk. I step on every single crack, just in case the poem is right and my mother will break her back._

* * *

“I think you’ve seen too many movies,’ Haechan told Mark on Thursday after school. They were sitting on some steps near the library, away from watching eyes. ‘You can’t spend your whole life waiting for that perfect moment where you rescue Wendy from drowning or her dad accidentally hits you with his car or you get locked on a rooftop together.’

‘Fluff,’ said Mark.

‘What?’

‘It’s called a “Fluff”. When two characters in a story meet each other and fall in love.’

Haechan stared at him.

‘I spend a lot of time on the internet,’ Mark explained.

‘Whatever it’s called,’ Haechan said, ‘it doesn’t happen in real life. You have to get to know people. Love at first sight isn’t a real thing, and if it is, it never lasts.’

Mark sighed. ‘I know. It’s all lies. Sometimes I think there’s no such thing as love at all, that it’s all made up by Hollywood.’

He looked as if he was going to cry.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Haechan said. ‘There is totally such a thing as love. But you can’t waste your life waiting for it to land on your doorstep. You have to go out and make things happen for yourself.’

‘And how do you suggest I do that?’ Mark asked, turning a miserable face towards Haechan, but not meeting his eyes.

‘Well, there is that party I told you about,’ Haechan said. ‘On Saturday.’

‘No,’ Mark said flatly. ‘I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t know what to say to anyone.’

‘It’s easy. You just go up to someone and say “hi”. Then you start a conversation.’

Mark went pale. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that. The very idea of having a conversation with someone, especially a girl, makes my blood run cold.’

Haechan laughed. ‘Well, I hate to frighten you,’ he said, ‘but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a person. And we’ve just been having a conversation for over half an hour.’

Mark blinked. ‘Really?’  
  
'Yep. And you’re doing an excellent job. We’ll have you kissing girls in no time.’

He scratched his elbow and stared at an illegible piece of graffiti on the step beside him. ‘I’ve never kissed anyone,’ he said. ‘Or been kissed.’

‘Except by your mum.’

Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t remember my mother ever kissing me.’

‘Seriously?’ Haechan’s mother had her flaws, plenty of them. But he’d never felt he lacked affection from his parents. Never.

‘And what about your dad?’ he asked.

‘He never kissed me either.’

‘Have you ever tried telling him about your problem?’

Mark laughed in a colourless sort of way. ‘My father doesn’t like to talk about personal matters.’

‘He never sat you down and gave you the Talk?’

‘What talk?’

‘You know,’ Haechan said. ‘The Talk. About sex.’

‘What?’ Mark looked surprised and offended. ‘No way! God. No.’

‘But you do . . . know . . . about sex. Right?’

He made eye contact with me for a long moment, the longest he’d ever looked at me for.

‘Yes, Haechan,’ he said, and Haechan was momentarily surprised that Mark knew his name. ‘I know about sex. I do have the internet, you know. I may be an anxiety-ridden emotional cripple, but that doesn’t mean I’m a total idiot.’

Haechan laughed, and Mark’s face cracked a tiny bit. Just a hint of a smile changed everything about him. His sullen aloofness lifted and he looked boyish and hopeful and . . . kind of beautiful. Haechan could finally see why all the girls thought he was hot. His eyes opened up, and they were soft and greenish-brownish-grey, like a misty morning high up in a mountain forest. Something squeezed inside Haechan. This was new.

Then Mark saw Haechan watching him and blushed, and the smile was gone and his face was locked away again behind his mask.

‘But . . . ’ His face screwed up as though he were tasting something bitter, and he closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I am . . . ’ He swallowed.

‘Yes?’

He bit his lip. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone?’

Haechan nodded, adding in his mind that the article didn’t count, because he wouldn’t be using Mark’s real name.

‘I’m . . . ’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’m a virgin.’

Haechan couldn’t help bursting out laughing. Mark went bright red and started to tremble.

‘Nobody can know,’ he said, between clenched teeth. ‘It’d be too humiliating.’

Haechan shook his head. ‘That’s your big secret? That you’re a virgin?’

Mark glanced around, a hunted look in his eyes. ‘Don’t say it so loud!’

‘Mark,’ Haechan said. ‘We’re in Year Ten. Statistically, only about 40 per cent of the people in our year have had sex. You’re in a healthy majority.’

‘Does that mean . . . ’ Mark’s voice cracked. ‘Are you . . . ?’

‘A virgin? Of course.’

Mark blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Really. Teenagers are massively prone to exaggeration. Contrary to popular belief, Con Stingas doesn’t have regular sexual relations with Luke Smith’s mum.’

Mark seemed ridiculously pleased. Boys. They were all the same, more or less.

‘I should go home,’ he said. ‘My mother will be expecting me for dinner.’

‘I want to meet your parents,’ Haechan said.  
Mark barked out a short laugh. ‘No way.’

‘Why not? They’d probably be overjoyed if you brought a friend home.’

‘No.’

Heachan had never heard Mark say anything so firmly. That single no had been said with total force and confidence. It only fired up his curiosity even more.

He had to see Mark’s home and meet his parents. It would be essential to his article, and to his understanding of Mark as a person. Upbringing was clearly such a major factor in his condition. He had to make an independent assessment.

It was time for some journalistic sneakiness.

Haechan pulled out his iPhone and pretended to check his KaKaoTalk. ‘I’d better go too,’ he said. ‘Dad wants to try this new Moroccan place for dinner.’ He made a show of looking off to Mark’s right. ‘Hey, is that Wendy over there?’ he pointed.

Mark’s head whipped around, and he peered at the gaggle of girls by the canteen. ‘No.’

‘My bad.’ Haechan zipped up the pocket to his bag and slipped off the bench. Mark didn’t seem to notice that Heachan was no longer holding his phone.

When Haechan got home, he made a beeline for his laptop. He logged into his account and clicked on the Find My iPhone button. A map of the city popped up, with a pulsing blue circle that zoomed in until it centred on one suburban home.

‘Found you,’ he said, scribbling an address on a post-it.

‘Going somewhere?’ asked Dad.

‘Yeah,’ Haechan said. ‘Sorry. I’m going to a friend’s house for dinner.’

‘You’re going next door?’ He nodded his head towards Jaemin’s apartment.

‘No, another friend. His name’s Mark. He’s helping me with an article I’m writing.’

* * *

It was an unremarkable house in an ordinary street in a leafy suburb not far from school. It was large, brick, and would have been very elegant when it was built in the 1980s, with lots of windows and a well-maintained lawn.

A middle-aged woman opened the door. She had curly blonde hair and was wearing a simple yet expensive-looking blue dress and well-applied makeup. Heachan thought she resembled a mum on an American soap opera, pretty and bland and nurturing. She seemed mildly surprised to see him.

‘Mrs Lee?’ He held out His hand. ‘Hi, I’m Heachan.’

She shook it, still confused. ‘Are you selling something?’

‘Pardon?’ he said, laughing. ‘No, I’m Mark’s friend. He didn’t tell you he’d invited me for dinner?’

Heachan put his hand over his mouth in mock dismay. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. He said he’d check with you first. He must have forgotten.’

Her polite confusion had been replaced with a frown. ‘My son invited you here? For dinner?’

Haechan feigned embarrassment. ‘He did,’ He said. ‘But it’s totally okay, Mrs Lee. I’ll just go home. I wouldn’t want to impose on you without any warning.’

Mark’s mum continued to stare at him as if he’d told her he was from another planet.

‘It was lovely to meet you,’ Haechan said, trying to appear polite, responsible and confused all at the same time. ‘But I’ll just go, shall I? I’m really sorry to have bothered you. Silly Mark.’

He turned and started walking back towards the gate, counting silently in his head. Say something, lady!

‘Wait,’ said Mrs Lee, and Haechan turned, relieved. He adopted a politely questioning expression.

‘Of course you should stay,’ she said with a tight smile. ‘It’s lovely to meet one of Mark’s friends. Please come in, I’ll tell him you’re here.’

She ushered Haechan through the door, and invited him to sit in the living room before she disappeared to find Mark. Haechan gazed around and realised that, despite its normal exterior, all was not okay in this house.

  
Everything was covered in plastic. There was a clear rubbery runner over the hallway carpet, and the couch was covered in the kind of plastic that movers use to protect fabric. The house smelled of disinfectant and air freshener. It made his eyes itch. The only sound was the loud ticking of an ugly gold clock above the mantelpiece.

The faintest whisper of a presence behind him made him turn. Mark was standing in the doorway to the living room, an expression of total horror on his face.

‘Hi, Mark!’ Haechan jumped up off the couch with a squeak of plastic. ‘I can’t believe you forgot to tell your mum I was coming over!’

Mark said nothing. He looked like that screaming Edvard Munch painting. Or a sex-doll.

‘I like your house,’ Haechan said. ‘It’s very . . . clean. And you’re right, it wasn’t hard to find it at all – it’s so close to the train station. Are you going to show me your room?’

Mrs Lee glided back in with a tray bearing two glasses of lemonade.

‘You kids sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready. It won’t be long.’

She put the tray on the coffee table and ushered Haechan back to the couch. Mark sat in an armchair as far from Haechan as he could possibly get.

Mrs Lee disappeared from the room again, her heels clacking softly on the plastic runner. Haechan wondered if she was going out after dinner. Who wore high heels in their own home?

‘So . . . ’ he said. ‘This would be a good opportunity for practising small talk in awkward situations.’

Mark said nothing. I could hear his breath coming in shallow pants, the way it did when he was especially anxious.

‘Look,’ Haechan said. ‘I’m sorry I came here without your permission. But you need to be exposed to new challenges, otherwise you’ll never get better. And I wanted to meet your family.’

Mark leaned forward and took one of the glasses of lemonade. He drained it in one breath, like the desperate cowboy does in the saloon before he goes outside to meet the troublemaker at ten paces. He broke his stoic silence by belching loudly, and blushed.

‘Nice.’ Haechan helped himself to the other glass of lemonade.

They sat there in strained silence for what felt like hours, until Mrs Lee came to say that dinner was served.

The dining room on the other side of the hall was just as sterile and weird as the living room. The heavy dark wooden table was set with good white china, silver knives and forks, and embroidered cloth napkins. But the whole effect was spoiled by the plastic tablecloth with its tacky daisy print.

Mr Lee was already sitting at the table. He was a big man, wearing a suit and tie. (Dad wouldn’t have approved. Too big-shouldered and power-suity. Very 1990s.) He nodded at Mark, and then stared at Haechan.

‘This is Haechan,’ said Mrs Lee. ‘A friend of Mark’s from school.’

  
Mr Lee raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Clearly they weren’t a very chatty household.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Lee,’ Haechan said, holding out his hand.

He hesitated, then stood and leaned over the table to shake it. ‘Hello,’ he said.

Well, it was more than he’d got out of Mark.

There was an entree of salad with cold ham. There was so much dressing on the salad that each piece of lettuce dripped as I picked it up. Haechan’s mouth grew fuzzy from the salty dressing and sugary lemonade. Mark ate mechanically, not raising his eyes from his plate. Nobody spoke.

Haechan thought of Jaemin’s family, who were also quiet and polite, but in an entirely normal and human way. This was like having dinner in Stepford. Any minute now Mrs Lee’s robot head would explode and she’d try to kill us all.

‘May I please have some more salad?’ asked Mark, his voice barely a whisper, his head down.

This was crazy. The salad was right in front of him. Did he really have to ask permission to  
eat more vegetables? Haechan’s mum used to pay him to eat vegetables.

‘Of course you may,’ said Mrs Lee, and to Haechan’s astonishment she stood up, walked to the other end of the table, and served Mark some salad.

‘Thank you,’ said Mark, still not looking up.

‘You’re welcome.’ Mrs Lee returned to her seat.

Haechan couldn’t believe this. Was this what every dinner was like? Or was it a special performance for his benefit? He half expected Mrs Lee to burst out laughing, and for Mark to tell him he’d been pranked.

‘Um,’ Haechan said loudly, trying to fill the air with the sound of something other than chewing. ‘Did anyone see that report on the ABC last week about climate change? I think it raised some really interesting points.’

Mark and Mr Lee stared at Haechan as though he’d just announced he was about to give birth to a trout. Mrs Lee stared at her plate as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

‘Especially about alternative energy sources?’ Haechan faltered.

Mark returned his eyes to his plate. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose into his salad.

‘Must have missed that one,’ said Mr Lee shortly.

And that was Haechan’s sole attempt at conversation. Clearly talking during dinner was just Not On in the Lee household.

The dinner dragged on in silence. After Mark’s mum had served us some very overcooked slices of beef with watery gravy, Mr Lee stood up to turn on the radio. Some loud-mouthed talkback host was asking people about their experiences with overcrowding on public transport.

The noise only made things seem more quiet and still in the dining room. Haechan had been chewing on the same piece of beef for over a minute, and was pretty sure it was never going to break down. Could he spit it into his napkin? Would this meal never end?

He glanced at Mark’s mum, and saw with horror that she was crying silently. Fat tears slid down her cheeks, taking eyeliner and foundation with them, so her face seemed to be melting. Neither Mark nor his father seemed to notice – or if they did notice, they didn’t care to comment.

Haechan was going through a mini mental breakdown. Mark’s case was too far gone, his psychological damage must be too severe. With a family like this, how could he ever get better? He didn’t know what it was like to be normal.

He’d never in jos life wanted so much to be at home with Dad, eating Moroccan food or doing a jigsaw of a poodle dressed as a dragon with his friends. What was he doing here?

He managed to force the beef down and straightened his knife and fork to see that Mark and Mr Lee had finished too. Had they been watching him masticate his way through this culinary disaster? Haechan felt the lump of almost-solid meat making its way slowly down his throat. This was why people turned vegetarian.

‘Thanks for dinner, Mrs Lee.’ He swallowed again, just to be on the safe side. ‘It was delicious.’

Mark’s mum ignored him, still crying into her uneaten roast beef.

Mark seemed frozen. It was clear Haechan was going to have to get himself out of this whole ugly situation. But even though he badly wanted to crawl home and give Dad a giant hug for being so pleasantly functional, he wasn’t finished.

This was what being a journalist was all about. Sometimes he’d have to put himself in difficult or unpleasant situations. Chenle spent ten days in a mental asylum. He could manage one evening.

‘So, Mark,’ Haechan said, raising his voice to be heard above the radio. ‘You said you could lend me that book? The one you mentioned the other day?’  
Mark stared at him. ‘W-what book?’ It was the first time he’d spoken to Haechan all evening.

‘Oh, you remember. You said you had it. In your bedroom.’

‘I don’t remember anything about a book.’

Haechan sighed. ‘Let’s just go look, shall we?’

He stood up and started towards the dining room doorway. He had no idea where Mark’s room was, but he was pretty sure Mark’d follow him.

And, with a clatter of cutlery and a scrape of chair, he did.

‘Where are you going?’ he hissed, as they walked down the hallway.

‘Well, which one of these doors is your room?’

Mark hesitated in front of a door, and Haechan grinned triumphantly and opened it.

‘No,’ said Mark. ‘Don’t go in there.’

‘Why not?’ Haechan walked in, flicking on the light.

In some ways it was just an ordinary bedroom. A bed (single), a bookshelf. A desk with a laptop on it. But Haechan immediately noticed other things: neat stacks of CDs on the bookshelf; a collection of what looked like light globes. What a nerd.

Mark was still hovering in the doorway, beads of sweat on his brow, struggling. He didn’t like Haechan being in his space.

Haechan went over to the collection of light globes and his breath caught in his throat.  
They were eight tiny little gardens, each inside its own globe. One was a desert, with miniscule cacti rising out of golden sand. Another was thick dark moss, with a cluster of white toadstools in the centre. Yet another held smooth stones with tiny purple flowers peeking up between them.

‘Did you make these?’ he asked.

‘They’re terrariums,’ Mark replied. ‘The plants are all real.’

‘They’re amazing,’ Haechan said. ‘How do you make them?

Mark shrugged. ‘Patience. I like to grow things, but my mother won’t let me plant anything in the front garden in case I spoil the lawn, and the backyard is just plastic. I like being able to make little worlds, apart from everything else.’

Like you, Haechan thought. A little world apart from everything else.

‘Wow,’ he said.

‘I’m a weirdo,’ said Mark. ‘Have you had enough yet?’

Haechan grinned at him. ‘Not even close. Are you going to come into your bedroom, or are you going to hang out in that doorway for the rest of the evening?’

Mark slunk into the room like a miserable dog and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, his posture all tense as if he was ready to spring up and flee. He cleared his throat. ‘H-how did you find out where I live?’  
‘I hid my phone in your bag,’ Haechan told him, examining his meticulously alphabetised CD collection. ‘I tracked its location online.’

Mark didn’t say anything, and Haechan was kind of disappointed. Wasn’t he impressed by my investigative skills?

‘Drake, Usher, Eminem, Kanye West,’ he read aloud. ‘So you like RnB.’ He moved along the shelf.

„I like cool music,’ Mark muttered.

‘But no Michael Jackson?’

Mark shook his head. ‘ Hurts my ears.’

‘Of course,’ Haechan said, rolling his eyes inwardly.

Mark said nothing.

‘I don’t know much rap music,’ Haechan said. ‘But there was a song from melon about being wow that I liked ?’

Mark didn’t look up, but his face brightened and he began to speak very quickly.  
‘Hundred bands in my pocket, it's on me  
Hundred deep when I roll like the army  
Get more bottles, these bottles are lonely  
It's a moment when I show up, got 'em sayin', Wow, wow, wow  
Hundred bands in my pocket, it's on me  
Yeah, your grandmama probably know me  
Get more bottles, these bottles are lonely  
It's a moment when I show up, got 'em sayin', Wow’

Haechan stared at him. It was the most he’d ever heard Mark say all at once, delivered rapid-fire, without a slip or a stammer. He felt like bursting into applause.

‘I love this song,’ said Mark. ‘It’s by Post Malone though.’

‘That was amazing,’ Haechan said, and meant it.

Mark shifted uncomfortably. ‘I still don’t remember telling you about a book.’

Haechan rolled his eyes. ‘For someone who spends his whole life pretending to be something he’s not, you’re not very good at picking up lies. I just wanted to get away from the dining room.’

‘Oh.’

‘Although I would like my phone back.’

Mark fumbled in his backpack until he found Haechan’s iPhone. He handed it over, making sure their hands didn’t touch.

'Sorry,’ he said. ‘About dinner. I told you not to come.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Haechan said. ‘It helped me understand you a bit more. Your family is . . . not exactly normal.’

‘No.’

Haechan gazed at the terrariums and thought about how Mark’s ultra-cool persona was like a glass wall that sheltered him from the world.

‘Mark,’ he said. ‘What happened at your old school? Why did you leave?’

Mark scratched at his elbow. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Everything. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I need to know.’

Mark sighed and took off his watch, laid it carefully beside him, then picked it up and put it back on again before he finally started talking.

‘There was a boy,’ he said. ‘I never really had friends and he seemed nice. He was quiet and thoughtful and sometimes when he’d catch me staring he’d smile and look away, like he wanted to be friends too but was too shy to approach me. I watched him, trying to figure out his routine. I was kinda waiting for the right time to say something. Like ‘hey do you wanna go to my place and play video games?’. I used to wait for him after school every day, hoping that I’d be able to finally speak to him. And every day he’d walk on by. A couple of times I even followed him home, hoping and hoping that a miracle would happen and that I’d be able to say something. This went on for a month or two.’

Mark took his watch off again and held it in a tight fist, his eyes closed.

‘And then what? Did you speak to him?’

Mark shook his head. ‘He told his parents that I was stalking him. I can’t believe he did that. I mean, he smiled at me. I thought we could be friends.’

Haechan didn’t say anything. Of course the boy thought Mark was a stalker. What do you call a creepy guy who stares at you and follows you home? A stalker. Or worse.

‘So his parents called the school and the school called my parents.’ Mark’s voice broke on the last word, and he started to cry.

‘Oh.’ Haechan didn’t know whether he should try to comfort Mark, or whether it would make him more anxious. He waited. Mark pulled his sleeve across his nose and swallowed.

„My parents were so mad. They asked if I was gay… My mother screamed and screamed at me, asking what she’d ever done to deserve a son like me. So they pulled me out of the school, which was good because I think I might actually have died if I’d ever seen the boy again. And then my mother grounded me. She said it was time for me to start acting like a real boy, and that I wasn’t allowed out again until I could. And I wanted to say well then help me find a girlfriend, and I will grow up, but she didn’t. Ever. She never helped me meet girls, never got any of her friends to bring their daughters around, never introduced me to anyone.’

Haechan wanted to ask Mark why he wanted his mother’s help in the first place – didn’t most teenagers hate it when their parents tried to interfere with their personal lives?

‘I hated her,’ Mark was saying. ‘I hated her so much, and I couldn’t leave the house and she was there all the time, yelling at me and crying and telling me what a disappointment I was. It was awful. Then my mother said that she’d help me, but that I had to promise that I’d try to be the son she wanted, instead of a .... a homosexual and I agreed. She even wrote out a contract and I signed it. Then she went out for a whole day and came back with bags of clothes and magazines and DVDs. She cut out pictures of girls, and put them all in a scrapbook. She bought me all these clothes.’

He plucked the fabric of his T-shirt. ‘She put me on a diet and made me work out for three hours a day. She showed me DVDs of hot girls and made me watch them, over and over again, for hours. Finally, she said I was ready to be a normal boy, and it was time for me to go back to school.’

‘And that’s when you came to our school?’

Mark nodded, then buried his head in his arms and made horrible hacking sounds as he trembled. When he’d cried like that outside the pool, it had been okay. He’d been an interview subject, a test case. He’d simply been displaying symptoms of anxiety. But now… now he was a person. A person who’d been a kid, like Haechan.

He wanted to tell Mark that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to comfort him. Haechan wanted him to believe that he knew all the answers.

But he didn’t. This was huge. It wasn’t just a matter of a boy who was too shy to talk to girls. Mark had been abused by his family. He was broken in ways Haechan couldn’t even imagine. He thought of Dad and wanted to be safe at home more than anything else in the world. And he knew that Mark had never felt like that. For Mark, there was no home. There was no safe.

Haechan thought of an ostracised rhesus monkey, throwing its baby at the walls of a cage. It was too much. Mark didn’t need an investigative journalist. He needed a therapist.  
And Haechan couldn’t do it. He was just a teenager.

Mark was still curled over, his face hidden. Haechan knew he should stay with him, try to make things okay, let him know that at least someone in the world cared. But every single cell and atom in his body was humming with fear. He knew about the fight-or-flight response – it had always seemed a cliché. But it was real.

Haechan fled Mark’s room, leaving his house, his life and the project behind him.

* * *

Haechan had made babylion’s tumblr his homepage when he’d started the project, so it automatically loaded when he got home and powered up his laptop. He hesitated. After tonight, there was no way he was going to work on the project anymore. He should just stay away from Mark.

He slammed the lid of his laptop closed, picked up the whole thing and shoved it into the back of his wardrobe. He didn’t ever want to see Mark again. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

It wasn’t difficult to avoid Mark on Friday. At lunchtime Haechan went to his group meeting, where they finalised the catering and entertainment for the social. They had sold tickets to nearly 80 per cent of the student body, so they’d make a tidy profit and he could finally start implementing the canteen recycling program he’d been working on.

He had told Ten and Jaemin to meet him at a café at eight o’clock on Saturday night, and they’d head to Jaehyun’s party from there. That way Haechan could make sure the initial meeting went reasonably smoothly and Ten didn’t say anything too offensive.

The café was more crowded at night than it was during the day, with people sipping coffee or drinking fancy designer beers and eating Turkish bread and dips. Haechan caught sight of Ten sitting at a table near the kitchen. He cringed inwardly. The boy was wearing skinny black leather jean, and not in an ironic way. A silky white blouse was tucked into jeans that, judging from the centre-crease, showed almost enough cleavage to expose the boy’s nipples.

‘Hi,’ Haechan said, walking up to the table and sitting down.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Ten, looking concerned. ‘It’s the blouse, isn’t it?’

Guess his cringe hadn’t been as inward as Haechan’d thought. ‘It does look a bit like a vampire slut picked your outfit.’

Ten shrugged. He seemed almost satisfied with himself.  
„Um,’ said a nasal voice behind Haechan’s elbow. It was Jaemin, wearing black shorts with white socks pulled up to the knee. He looked like a character from an anime.

‘Hi, Jaem!’ Haechan said, standing up. Ten stood too, and knocked over his chair. Once he’d recovered himself, he introduced himself to Jaemin, and they shyly shook hands.

They all sat down, and Haechan tried to get Jaemin and Ten to talk to each other. But Jaemin ws pathetic, gazing down at his lap and nodding along to his attempts at conversation. It was like talking to a bobble-headed doll. Ten on the other hand seemed bored.

‘So the party should be fun,’ Haechan said, lamely.

Jaemin nodded and Ten rolled his eyes. Haechan resisted the urge to groan, and checked his phone.

‘Is Mark coming?’ asked Ten, with a slightly smarmy look.

Jaemin’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why would Mark be coming?’ he asked Haechan. ‘Did you guys— Are you dating?’

‘What? No. No, we’re not dating, and no, he’s not coming.’ Haechan glared at Ten.

‘Oh,’ said Jaemin, sounding disappointed. He lowered his voice and leaned over to Haechan, his eyes sparkling. ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone at the party.’

Haechan was about to open his mouth to tell Jaemin he had neither the intention nor the desire to meet anyone at the party, but found he had neither the energy nor the heart to disappoint his friend.

‘Right,’ he said instead. ‘Well, I guess we should go.’

‘I might run to the bathroom first,’ said Jaemin.

While he was gone, Ten reached into his bag and popped a breath mint into his mouth. Haechan raised his eyebrows.

‘Better to be on the safe side,’ he said. ‘I had a kebab for dinner.’

Haechan’s was going as well as could be expected.

* * *

Jaehyun’s party was in its early stages when they arrived, which was good. Haechan tended to get bored once everyone was drunk and making out on the couches or vomiting into the bushes.

There was some reasonably inoffensive and not-too-loud pop music playing on the stereo, and people were gathered in clusters, chatting, drinking and eating corn chips.

Haechan gave Jaehyun a big hug (Jaehyun didn’t really like hugging, but accepted it because this was what you were supposed to do at a party).

‘Happy birthday!’ he said, and introduced Ten and Jaemin. Jaehyun may have been a little surprised that Haechan had brought two dates along – especially one as sexual as Ten – but the birthday boy was far too polite to say anything, as Haechan’d expected.

They settled on a couch and Haechan sent Ten off to get them something non-alcoholic to drink.

‘So,’ he said to Jaemin. ‘What do you think of Ten?’

Jaemin shrugged. ‘He’s very weird. But he seems . . . okay.’

‘He told me that he thinks you’re very pretty,’ Haechan lied.

Jaemin blushed. ‘Really?“

„Really. And did you see he has blue eyes and freckles?’

Jaemin nodded, pleased. ‘This is fun,’ he said. ‘I actually know people here. That girl over there is in the Manga Club at school. I can’t believe I’m at a party! With boys!’

Ten came back, inexpertly carrying three drinks at once and sploshing lemon squash all over his wrist. Maybe it was time for Haechan to give these two some privacy. Even though he didn’t really see chemistry between them.

He saw Wendy across the room. ‘Can you guys excuse me for a moment?’ he said. ‘I have to go and say hi to someone.’

Wendy was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar and swinging her legs, a plastic cup of something orange in her hand. Haechan hoped it was just Fanta, but he doubted it.

‘Hi Haechan!’ Wendy gave him a kiss on the cheek. Definitely not just Fanta. ‘Are you feeling better?’

Haechan blinked. ‘What?’

‘It was sooo unfair, you getting disqualified just because you were sick.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That was unfair.“

He thought about the swimming carnival for a moment. A month ago he would have been furious. He would have confronted the principal and written an editorial for the newspaper.

But now he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He took it as evidence that he was growing as a person and felt quite proud.

Wendy hiccuped, and Haechan considered the possibility that he might be thrown up on a second time in as many weeks.

‘So there are, like, no cute guys at this party,’ said Wendy.

Haechan studied the various boys nearby. Lucas was pressed against some girl, his hands creeping up under her T-shirt. Jisung and Chenle were having a competition to see who could fit the most marshmallows in his mouth. Jaehyun was showing Johnny a video of something on his phone that was, if Johnny’s delighted exclamations were anything to go by, very lewd indeed.

„No argument here,’ Haechan said.

He glanced over to Jaemin and Ten. Ten was waving his hands around animatedly as he explained something to Jaemin, who kept nervously licking his lips. Haechan sighed.

‘Sometimes I think that there are no cute boys anywhere,’ he said. ‘They’re all freaks.’

„There are nice ones,’ said Wendy with a secretive smile.

Haechan immediately thought of Mark. ‘Really? Like who?’

Wendy screwed up her pretty nose. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Nice guys who are, like . . . nice. And funny and good-looking.’

Well, Mark fitted all those categories. Most of them, anyway. He was good-looking, and he was certainly funny-peculiar even if he wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny. Was he nice? He’d waited for Haechan after he’d thrown up on him. Although that might be stretching the definition of nice.

„Do you have anyone in mind?’ he asked. ‘Specifically?’

Wendy gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

Haechan couldn’t help himself. ‘Would you think about dating someone who was . . . a bit different?’

‘Like a Year Twelve?’

‘No . . . more different than that.’

  
Wendy leaned her head towards Haechan. ‘You know,’ she said softly. ‘You’re not my type, sorry. But I kind of have. There is . . . someone. And he’s not exactly the kind of guy I thought I would ever like. I mean, he’s pretty cute, but he isn’t very popular.’

Did Wendy like Mark? Was that possible? What if they got together? Haechan imagined it for a moment. It’d be a total disaster. He wouldn’t be happy with her. She wasn’t smart enough for him; they’d never be able to have a proper conversation.

And that’s what Mark wanted, Haechan was sure of it. Mark could go on about her long hair and pretty face, but what he really wanted was a soul-mate, right? Someone he could open up to, someone he could be his true self with.

Except . . . what was Mark’s true self? Now Heachan’d been to his house and met his parents, he wasn’t sure he knew the boy at all. Was he just too broken?

Why did Haechan even care? He wasn’t writing the article anymore.

‘I’ve seen him watching me,’ said Wendy. ‘And at first I was creeped out, because, well, he’s a bit weird. But then I looked at him properly, and I thought . . . maybe. He has beautiful eyes.’

Mark did have beautiful eyes. Dark and soulful, with very long lashes.

‘So do you think he likes you?“

„Oh, I’m sure he does,’ said Wendy. ‘And I think maybe because he’s quiet, and I’m quiet too, he wouldn’t want to talk all the time the way some boys do.’

It was Mark! She liked Mark! Of course, Mark was quiet because he was shy, and Wendy was quiet because she didn’t have much to say. But still. She liked him.

Haechan wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

‘And he’d never cheat on me,’ continued Wendy, ‘because I’m so much prettier than most of the girls he’d be able to get.“

„I don’t know, Wendy,’ he said. ‘If he’s so shy, how do you know he’d open up around you?’

‘I just know,’ she said. ‘And anyway, he’s not shy around his friends.’

Wait. ‘His friends?’

‘Yeah, he’s fine with them. Always chatting and laughing. Unless he’s looking at me. With those eyes.’ She sighed happily.

‘Um,’ Haechan said. His tower of assumptions was swaying. ‘So who is this guy, Amy? With the eyes?“

She leaned over and whispered boozily into his ear, ‘Kim Junmyeon. I know he’s a dork, but at least he’s a Year Ten dork, so that’s better than dating a dork in my year. Do you really think I should go for it?’

‘Sure,’ Haechan said, suddenly feeling a bit strange. ‘Could you excuse me? I have to visit the bathroom.’

‘Wait,’ said Wendy. ‘Is it true that you’re going out with Mark Lee?’

‘What?’

‘Irene said she saw you guys sitting together at lunch, two days in a row. And he never sits with anyone.“

Haechan nearly fell over. People thought Mark and he were dating?

‘I told her it was probably just something for the school paper,’ said Wendy. ‘Mark doesn’t really seem your type, and doesn’t he have a girlfriend at another school?’

‘You’re right,’ Haechan said. ‘It was just something for the paper.“

He stumbled away. Did it make me a bad person that he was relieved Wendy didn’t like Markk? Was it that he didn’t think Wendy would make Mark happy? Or didn’t he want him to be happy? And why was he thinking about him so much, anyway?

And Junmyeon was a really nice guy. He’d take care of Wendy. Good for her.

Jaemin was chatting to a few boys and girls over by the TV. He seemed perfectly comfortable, laughing and swaying from side to side with the music. Haechan couldn’t see Ten anywhere.

Haechan sighed and went back to the couch. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Usually he tried to chat to everyone at a party, in case someone dropped some particularly interesting piece of gossip that he could use in the paper, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

A daggy ’80s song started playing, and someone turned up the sound. Girls squealed and dragged boys into the middle of the room to dance.

„Hey, Haechan.’ Taeil sat down next to hm on the couch. Brave, considering how totally he had humiliated himself at last year’s cast party. He was wearing a brown corduroy jacket with a tweed cap.

‘I suppose you’re making some keen observations about the nature of adolescent interaction,’ Taeil said. ‘I’m sure I’ll read about it someday in one of your books.’

He was clearly joking, yet surprisingly close to the truth. ‘Something like that,’ Haechan said.

Taeil cleared his throat. “Wanna dance?”

Haechan stared at him.

“With me?’ Taeil said, a little flustered.

That was unexpected. And . . . brave. Haechan kept staring. At loss for words.

„You know,’ Taeil said, a little flustered. ‘I thought about what you said the other day in the library, about how we don’t study much writing by women. And I realised I’d never read any poetry by women, which is weird, because I’ve read a lot of poetry. So I did my research and I’m loving Christina Rosetti and Emily Dickinson and Dorothy Parker. Anne Sexton’s a little full on, though.“

Haechan nodded knowingly, although he’d actually never read anything by any of them. Perhaps he wasn’t a very good feminist after all? But he really wasn’t a poetry kind of person, although he didn’t want to admit it.

„I think we spend too much time praising women for how they look,’ Taeil went on, ‘and not enough time praising what they say. You opened up my eyes there. And I wanted to say thank you. So, yeah, I’m a big fan of the things you say, and I will also add that you look very nice tonight.“

„Thanks,’ Haechan replied, although Taeil probably didn't mean it. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt. He didn’t see the point of getting dressed up to hang out in some lounge room with a bunch of kids he saw every day at school.

He realised Taeil was staring at him. ‘What?’

„Er,’ said Taeil. ‘So do you want to dance?’

Haechan’s face went hot.

‘Dance. With me. Now. Here.’ Taeil nodded his head towards the dance floor area.

„Um, no thanks. I don’t really dance.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

They sat uncomfortably for a minute, and Haechan wondered why he’d turned Taeil down. Dancing might have been nice.

‘So,’ said Taeil. ‘I’m going to get another drink.’

He stood and left, and Haechan stayed on the couch. He wouldn’t be coming back. Haechan should have agreed to dance with him. Whatever.

He wondered what would have happened if he had been able to convince Mark to come. Would he have spoken to anyone? Would he have found out about Wendy’s crush on Junmyeon and broken down? Or would he have finally relaxed and enjoyed himself?

There were plenty of other girls here who would have wanted to talk to him.

Haechan imagined Mark in his room, surrounded by his rap music CDs and terrariums. Perhaps he was making a new one, gently packing damp earth and moss into the delicate glass.

'Haechan?’ It was Ten, standing a little too close. Haechan could smell alcohol on his breath.

‘Hey,’ Haechan said. ‘Are you having fun?’

‘Can I talk to you?’ Ten said, swaying slightly. ‘Outside? I need your advice.’

‘Sure,’ Haechan said, and followed the boy outside.

Fairy lights were strung across the back porch, and a few couples were ensconced behind bushes and on loveseats. Ten led him to the edge of the porch and sat down, his legs hanging over the side. The air was warm and smelled of jasmine. It would have been quite romantic, if Haechan was the kind of person who believed in romance, and was there with someone other than Ten.

'What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Um,’ Ten said. ‘Thanks for inviting me to the party.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Haechan said. ‘Have you been talking to Jaemin? He’s lovely, right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ten. ‘He’s nice.’

Excellent. At least something was going right. He waited for Ten to continue. Did he want advice about Jaemin? How to ask him out on a proper date? Or his phone number?

‘I really appreciate what you’re doing for me, Haechan,’ said Ten. He sounded very sad. ‘It’s very kind. Not many people are that kind.’  
‘It’s nothing,’ Haechan said.

Ten swayed again, and his shoulder bumped against Haechan’s. He must have drunk quite a lot. Haechan tried to shuffle away subtly. He didn’t want another guy to throw up on him.

‘Ten? Are you okay?’

‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘I’m not, actually. Really not.”

Ten looked as if he might cry. “I love him so much. I’ve been so good, but I just can’t go on. I’m so close yet so far. Holding hands, being held, holding hands while being held....sleeping next to someone, waking up beside them, kissing them before and after sleep...brushing their hair out of their eyes, kissing their forehead and cheeks and mouth...I swear I just want the small things. I don’t even ask him to love me… I just wish I could be closer.”

Haechan took a deep breathe. 'You will,’ he said. ‘One day. Maybe not with your crush… but you will find love.”

Ten nodded. 'Okay,' he mumbled.

'I brought you to this party, and I brought someone else too, remember? Jaemin? Jaemin doesn’t have a boyfriend. Why don’t you go inside and talk to him? And perhaps try to have a conversation and hold his hand.”

Haechan went inside without waiting for a response. He had enough of emotional breakdowns for awhile. Taeil was on the dance floor, slow-dancing with Winwin. Haechan scowled at them.

But how could he be jealous? He’d turned Taeil down. It wasn’t as if he liked the boy, even with his cute vintage outfit. He needed to stop hanging around with so many hormonal teenagers – it was starting to rub off on him.

Haechan’d had enough. He went over to Jaemin. ‘I’ve got a headache,’ he told his friends. ‘I kind of want to go home.“

Jaemin nodded. ‘Let’s go straight away. Shall we call a taxi?’

Haechan’d expected him to stay at the party, and send him home on his own. But Jaemin didn’t. They walked out the front and Jaemin speedily rang for a cab.

‘Thanks so much for bringing me, Haechan,’ he said. ‘Are you okay? Is your head all right?’

'I’m fine,’ Haechan said, touched. ‘Just tired, I think. And you’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’

‘Oh, I did. Everything was wonderful.’

Jaemin was so starry-eyed and glowing, Haechan felt bad he hadn’t been able to orchestrate anything successful between him and Ten. Then again, his friend totally deserved better than Ten.

* * *

Dad was still up when Haechan got home, curled up on the couch reading something and drinking herbal tea. Haechan sat down by his feet.

‘Did you have a good time?’ Dad asked, not glancing up from his book.

‘Yep,’ he said, without much enthusiasm.

Dad nodded. Haechan played with the tassels on a cushion.

‘Dad?’

‘Hmm?’ He turned a page.

‘What would you do if your doctor told you that you only had six months to live?’

‘I’d get a second opinion.’

‘I’m serious.’

Dad closed his book, marking his place with a finger. ‘If my doctor told me I had six months to live?’

‘And your lifestyle wouldn’t be impeded by your illness.’

Dad considered it. ‘I’d make sure I had enough money set aside to take care of you.’

‘And what else?’

‘I guess I’d use the rest to travel.’

‘Really?’ he wasn’t a loner loser freak like Mark, after all. Everyone wanted to travel.

„I’d go to Machu Picchu. And Angkor Wat. And New York, because I know how much you want to go there—’

‘Wait,’ Haechan said. ‘I’m there too?’

Dad laughed. ‘Of course you are,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’

‘But what if I wanted to do different things to you? Go to different places?’

‘We’d figure something out.’

‘But it’s your last chance to do what you want. Do you really want to have to compromise?’

Dad seemed puzzled. ‘Well, there’d be no point seeing all those places unless I had someone to share them with.“

Haechan undid his shoelace, and then did it back up again.

‘Heachan?’ Dad touched his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

Haechan nodded, then straightened up and smiled at him. “Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

„I love you, kiddo,’ Dad said.

‘I love you too,’ Haechan replied, and I meant it. He wondered if Mark had ever said those words. Or whether anyone had ever said them to him. He wondered if anyone ever would.

Haechan couldn’t help himself. He needed to know that Mark was okay, that he hadn’t done something stupid. He’d just check his blog this one last time. Then he’d give up.

_08:27_  
_ There’s a party on tonight. I’ve been invited, not by the hostess, but still. An invite is an invite. I haven’t been invited to a party since I was six._  
_ I’m going to go. I must go. I can control this thing._  
_ What should I wear? I’ve pulled every item of clothing out of my wardrobe, and can find nothing. I can’t wear what I’ve worn to school before. I need special party clothes. What are special party clothes?_

Mark had wanted to go to the party? That meant that Mark didn’t hate him. Well, that was something.

_13:18_  
_ I’ve just spent three hours looking at YouTube videos of teen parties to get a feel of what it will be like. Will there be alcohol? Should I drink any? Would I be expected to provide my own alcohol? What’s the protocol? „Then I had a panic attack at the front door and had to be taken home. Should I take a gift? A card? A packet of chips? I’ve already showered three times today. I don’t want to smell bad. I might put on some more deodorant._

_16:02_  
_What if someone tries to talk to me? I’ll say the wrong thing, and they’ll learn I’m not worth speaking to. Then I’ll just be on my own and everyone will stare at me and whisper and know that I’m the one, the loser who everyone hates. I won’t even be invisible anymore, I’ll be naked and exposed and they’ll laugh._

_I can’t go._  
_ I can’t._  
_ I can’t do it._

_18:29_  
_ I have to go. I will. I need to do this. I’m going to have another shower to calm my nerves, then get dressed and go._

_21:48_  
_ I didn’t go._  
_ I wanted to. I had eight showers today, washed and dried my outfit twice, and laid it out on my bed. Then when I came back from my last shower, I froze in the middle of my room, wearing a towel around my waist. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get dressed. It was like I’d been paralysed. I stood there for an hour, shivering. I’ll never get better. This is it. This is my life. Nothing will ever change._

Haechan switched off his computer, feeling a bit sick. I wished he’d been stronger, braver. He wished he’d been able to help Mark. He wished he hadn’t fled from his house the other night.

* * *

Jaemin came bouncing up to Haechan locker after Maths on Monday morning as Haechan was putting away his books. ‘I had so much fun at the party,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for taking me!’

‘Not a problem,’ Haechan said. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’

‘I did!’ Jaemin sighed happily. ‘I wish I could go to a party every weekend.’

Haechan shuddered. Sounded like his idea of hell. ‘Well, you know the social is coming up soon. Do you have a ticket?’

Jaemin nodded. ‘I told my parents we’d be going together. That’s okay, isn’t it? They like you because you’re responsible and have your whole career planned out.’ He rolled his eyes.

‘Um, yeah,’ Haechan said. ‘Sure. That’s fine.’

  
Jaemin clapped him hands. ‘What are you going to wear?’ he asked. ‘Do you think anyone’ll ask me to dance?’

‘I’m sure they will,’ Haechan said. ‘Look, Jaem, I can’t really talk right now.’

His face fell a little. ‘Oh.’

‘Sorry,’ Haechan said. ‘I have to write this article for the paper. But I’ll see you later, okay?’

Jaemin nodded and gave him an impulsive hug. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘I almost forgot. Did you finish reading the manga I gave you? Because I have the latest volume, if you want to borrow it.’

‘That’d be . . . great.’ Haechan’d completely forgotten about the books Jaemin had lent him.

‘Ace!’ Jaemin said, and skipped off.

Haechan closed his locker door to find Ten standing behind it. ‘Could you try to be a little less creepy?’

‘I want his number,’ Ten said.

‘What? Whose number?“

“Jaemin’s.”

Heachan blinked. ‘I thought you liked this secret crush of yours.’

Ten shrugged. ‘But he will never like me,’ he said. ‘Plus I can’t be bothered playing his hard-to-get game.’

‘Maybe he’s not hard to get – maybe he’s not available.’

‘Whatever. So can I have his number?’

‘No,’ Haechan said, mostly because Ten was being a creep. ‘If you want to ask Jaemin out, you should give him your number.’

‘Are you crazy?’ he said. ‘What if he laughs at me?’

‘Then the seas will boil and a plague of frogs will rain down from the sky,’ Haechan said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the library.’

He turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway, only to be waylaid by Taeil. “What is it now?”

Taeil raised his eyebrows. ‘I just need you to sign off on the social budget so we can put in the catering order.“

Haechan took a deep breath and resisted the urge to push him out of the way. ‘Can it wait until lunchtime? I’m kind of busy right now.’

‘They need it by midday,’ said Taeil. ‘Come on, it’ll only take a minute.’

Haechan sighed and followed him to the office, where the secretary spent far too long searching for the right form and a stamp.

‘Looking forward to the debate?’ asked Taeil.

‘Sure,’ Haechan said shortly, glancing at his watch.

‘They should be pretty easy to beat.’

‘Yep.’

Taeil cocked his head. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little preoccupied.“

„Well, I was in the middle of something when you dragged me here,’ HeachanI said.

Taeil chuckled. ‘You really are in a bad mood today,’ he said. ‘Worse than usual.’

What was that supposed to mean? Worse than usual. Haechan wasn’t normally in a bad mood. He wasn’t in a bad mood now, he just had to write this stupid article.

‘Here we are,’ said the secretary, producing a piece of paper. Haechan scribbled his name on it and left Taeil to finish all the administrative nonsense. Hewas halfway up the stairs to the library when the bell went for third period. He groaned. He’d have to write the article at lunchtime.

He headed to the library as soon as the lunch bell rang. He could easily dash off the Vegan Alliance article and hand it in by the end of lunch.

He did some bare minimum research online and found some statistics about the proportion of vegetarian dishes made in Home Economics classrooms. He didn’t have time to do more than that, and frankly it wasn’t as if anyone would notice if he put in a little less effort than usual.

„Um.’

It was Mark looming over him. Haechan’s heart started to hammer. ‘Hey,’ he said, feeling strangely awkward.

Mark stood there for a moment, biting his lower lip. ‘Do you want to take a walk?’

Haechan looked at his computer screen. He’d written one hundred and fifty words. But he could finish it later. The principal didn’t really need to see it, and it was only going to layout this afternoon. It wouldn’t actually go the printer for at least another week.

‘Sure.“

They wandered through the school grounds, not speaking. What did he want? Was he mad? Was he going to cry again?

Mark stopped by the bench where they’d had our first conversation, and sat down abruptly. Haechan did the same. They sat there in silence for a while.

‘I wanted to thank you.“

Thank him? For what, inviting himself over to his house and witnessing his miserable crazy family? Haechan looked across at Mark, but the boy was staring at the ground.

‘I didn’t . . . I’d got used to the way things were. It wasn’t until you showed up that I realised . . . how bad everything is. How wrong.’

‘Oh.’ Haechan had no idea what to say. He say it’d be all right. It wouldn’t. That family wasn’t going to change anytime soon. And it wasn’t as though Mark could leave them. You can’t choose your family, and you can’t make them go away just because they’re insane.

„I thought I’d be in trouble because you came over. After you left I waited in my room for them to come up and tell me I’d done something wrong. But they didn’t come. And, I realised that I’d done something right. Something normal. I’d invited a friend over for dinner – or at least that’s what they thought. And that was something normal people do. And even though I didn’t actually invite you over, it still made me feel . . . like I could do some other normal things.’

Haechan nodded encouragingly.

‘But it’s hard. And I tried to go to that party you told me about . . . ’ He shook his head.“

Haechan couldn’t tell him that he knew what had happened – Mark still didn’t know he was reading the blog. So Haechan just kept nodding.

‘And I realised that you have helped me. I can talk to you – I’m doing it now. I’ve never done that before. It’s weird how much it helps to talk about stuff. I thought it’d make everything scarier, more real, but it actually makes things easier. Like, if I can talk about it, then maybe I can do something about it.’

  
He’d helped Mark. Haechan had helped him. The project was working. A vision of a feature article popped into his head, in the New Yorker or Vanity Fair.

„But,’ said Mark, ‘you can’t fix me.’

Why not? It was working so far, wasn’t it? He’d just said it was.

‘I think I need . . . something more intense. More serious.’

It was as if Mark were breaking up with him. Which was silly, because they weren’t dating – and never would. Haechan wasn’t his type and, anyway, he didn’t want to be dating anyone.

‘So I made an appointment to see a counsellor.’

‘Oh,’ Haechan said. He thought about it for a moment. ‘Good for you.“

It was good. He needed professional help, and Haechan wasn’t a therapist. But he could still follow Mark’s journey, document it, support him. The article was back on!

‘It’s tomorrow,’ Mark said. ‘After school. At the community clinic. And, um . . . ’

His cheeks went pink.

‘Do you want me to wait for you?’ Haechan asked. ‘Be there when you come out?’

Mark nodded, relieved. ‘Yes, please.“

There was a noise from over near the basketball courts, and Mark’s head popped up like a startled bunny’s. Johnny and Jaehyun were playing one-on-one basketball, yelling some pretty horrific things about each other’s mothers. Mark flinched.

‘Oh,’ Haechan said. ‘The Teenage Boy in his natural habitat. What a beautiful thing.’

‘It isn’t my natural habitat,’ said Mark.

‘No,’ Haechan said. ‘You wouldn’t like sport much, would you?“

Mark shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it,’ he said, talking very fast all of a sudden. ‘I don’t get the point of running around and sweating and grunting and hitting other boys. It just looks painful. I can’t think of anything worse than all that effort for nothing. I mean, what do you get out of it? The opportunity to rub your sweaty body up against some other guy’s? Gross.“

Haechan laughed. “Relax. We get it, you’re not gay.”

Mark stiffened for a moment then shrugged. ‘At least if I was gay I wouldn’t always have to make the first move. Someone might try hitting on me for a change.’

Haechan frowned. ‘But Mark, girls hit on you all the time. Girls faint in class so you’ll notice them. Any sane person would want to go out with you.’

‘Do you?“

„Um,’ Haechan said, feeling his cheeks flush. ‘No. Of course not. Definitely not. No. But I don’t want to go out with anyone, so don’t take it personally. But whenever one of those girls does come up and talk to you, you act like you’re too good for them. You don’t seem shy. Everyone thinks you have a girlfriend at your old school.’

Mark went very quiet, and Haechan knew he was thinking about his old school, and why he moved.

Johnny bellowed and tackled Jaehyun to the ground, although not in a particularly aggressive way. It looked like standard boy-silliness to Haechan, but it seemed to be upsetting Mark.

‘Come on,’ Haechan said. ‘Let’s keep walking.“

They headed across the oval towards the creek that ran along its furthest edge. They walked in silence, but it didn’t feel particularly awkward. Haechan decided to wait until he said something. Let him make the next move, as it were.

It took ten minutes. The branches and undergrowth opened up suddenly into a pretty green patch of grass, fringed with yellow buttercups that went right down to the edge of the creek, where two ducks circled lazily in the sluggish current of the creek.

‘Oh,’ said Mark softly. ‘How lovely.’  
‘Do you want to sit?’ Haechan asked, indicating the green patch. It looked soft and comfortable.

‘Where?’

‘Here,’ Haechan said. ‘On the grass.“

„Just think of the germs!’ He stopped, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m doing it, aren’t I? Being ridiculous and melodramatic.’

‘A little bit.’

Mark took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to be more normal.’

‘That’s good,’ Haechan said. ‘You’re doing a good job.’

‘It’s nice of you to pretend that.’ Mark smiled in his fluttery, nervous way. ‘But I’m still not sitting on the grass.’

‘Why are you so afraid of sitting on the ground?’ Haechan asked, as they turned and headed back towards school. ‘Fear of germs?’ he guessed.

Mark nodded.

‘How many phobias do you have, exactly?’

‘I’m trying to collect a full set.’ Haechan could see Mark was trying to be funny, but his face drooped miserably.

„Is that why your house is covered in plastic?’ Haechan asked. ‘Is your mum a germ-freak too?’

He nodded. ‘She never let me play outside when I was little, and always sprayed her hands with hand sanitiser after picking me up or touching me.’

‘Yikes.“

Mark’s eyes went bright, and he had a faraway, peaceful expression on his face. ‘But I want that one day,’ he said. ‘I want to feel the dirt under my fingernails. I want to be outside in a garden, with the sun on my face and the smell of things growing all around me. I want to do that and be happy, instead of worrying about clostridium perfringens and listeria monocytogenes and vibro cholerae. I want to get better.“

„You will,’ Haechan told him. ‘You will get better.’

‘I know,’ said Mark. ‘It’s funny. You’re like bossing me around to make me be less pathetic, and I’m all weak and afraid of the world at first, but growing stronger and braver every day.’

Haechan frowned. ‘I’m not bossy.”

Mark gave him a long look paired with an almost sarcastic smile. ‘No,’ he said with another chuckle. ‘You’re definitely not.’

* * *

On Tuesday, Haechan barely heard a word any of his teachers said all day. He was sure he was more nervous than Mark was about his counselling appointment. Mr Park called Haechan back as he left class, and asked if he was okay.

‘I’m fine,’ Haechan said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You’ve seemed very distracted lately.’

Haechan shrugged. ‘It’s a busy time of year. The Debating final is coming up, and we are organising the social.’

‘How many extracurricular activities do you do, Haechan?’

He counted. ‘Swimming, Band, Debating, SRC and the newspaper. Five.’

Mr Park raised his eyebrows. ‘Five is a lot. Perhaps you should consider dropping one or two to make more time for your studies.’

Was he crazy? ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t paying attention today, Mr Park. I didn’t sleep well last night. But I assure you, I’m excellent at managing my time. There really isn’t a problem.’

He didn’t seem convinced, but Haechan had to get to German, so he gave his teacher a reassuring smile and left.

* * *

He perched on a swing in the playground outside the community centre and took some halfhearted notes for the article. Haechan hated waiting. He wondered what Mark was talking about in there. Would he talk about them?

His phone chirped. It was a text message from Jaemin, asking if he wanted to come to Chenle’s house for dinner. He probably wanted to talk about Ten. Haechan tapped out a quick reply to tell Jaemin he was busy. He had to support Mark – He didn’t have time for matchmaking. He’d introduced Jaemin to Ten, given them an opportunity to get to know each other, and the rest was up to them.

Mark reappeared after an hour and came to sit on the swing next to Haechan. He shut his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

‘How did it go?’ Haechan asked after a few moments had passed.

‘Okay. Very hard, but okay.’

He kicked his heels against the tanbark and leaned back in the swing, letting the sunshine melt into his face.

‘Do you . . . want to talk about it?’ Haechan asked.

Mark shook his head. ‘There’s just so much . . . stuff. That I always thought was normal.’

‘What do you mean?’

  
He swung in silence for a moment. ‘When I was eight, I told my parents I wanted a Lego pirate ship for Christmas.’

‘And did you?’

Mark nodded. He dug his feet into the tanbark, halting himself mid-swing. ‘Oh, I got it. On Christmas Day.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Every single brick in place.’

‘Wait, what? They put it together?’

‘They stayed up on Christmas Eve and put the pirate ship together, so I wouldn’t make a mess.’

‘That’s just wrong.’

‘That’s not all,’ said Mark. ‘They superglued it together.’

Haechan stared at him in horror. ‘Your parents superglued together a Lego pirate ship before they gave it to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you thought this was normal.“

Mark shrugged. ‘I thought it was mean at the time. I just didn’t realise other people would find it so shocking.’

‘So what did she say? The therapist, I mean.’

‘Um.’ Mark’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his knees. ‘She thinks I should . . . ’ He took a deep breath. ‘She wants us to have counselling together as a family. And that maybe if that doesn’t work I could go and live in a residential care facility until I finish school and can either live on campus at university or get a job where I can support myself. She says I need cognitive behavioural therapy. I don’t really know what that is. She also says I could try anti-anxiety medication, but she wants to see if I can get better without it first.’

He drew another deep, shuddery breath.

‘Wow,’ Haechan said, aware that as a reaction it was rather lacking.

„Wow,’ repeated Mark. ‘Yeah. Wow.’

‘Do you think your parents will do it? Have counselling?’

‘I don’t know. I think they’ll be angry with me when they find out I went to see her.’

Mark sat for a moment, looking like a lost little boy.

‘So,’ Haechan asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Terrified. I always thought I knew what my life would be like. I’d always live with my parents, because I’d never be able to get a job. I’d always be shy and useless. Nothing would ever change. But now . . . now it’s all wide open. I don’t know what’s going to happen, who I’m going to be.’

‘Who do you want to be?’

Mark’s eyes grew distant and a flicker of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Anyone but me.“

* * *

Mark bailed Haechan up the next morning at recess.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘Sure,’ Haechan said. ‘Do you want to go outside?’

‘Not here,’ Mark muttered. ‘After school. I can’t talk here.’

‘Okay, I’ll see you at that bench,’ Haechan said, bemused. He watched the boy hurry off, his shoulders hunched and his head down, without his usual fake-swagger. It was as though he was really shaken about something. Had he told his parents about the therapist?

Haechan wondered about it all through my classes, and bolted out to the bench as soon as the last bell went. Mark was already there; he must have skipped class again. He seemed about to have another panic attack. His breath was all panty again and tears rolled down his face as his body shook with silent sobs.

What had happened? Haechan imagined Mark’s father grinding one of his terrariums to dirt and glass shards under his heel.

„Calm down,’ Haechan said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s – it’s—’

‘Tell me. Actually, breathe first. Then tell me.’

Mark took a gulping breath. ‘It’s Wendy,’ he said, all in a rush. ‘She – she . . . ’ He squeezed his eyes shut.

  
What had she done? Had he spoken to her? Had he realised how boring and shallow she was?

‘Mark,’ Haechan said. ‘What happened with Wendy? Did you guys talk?’

Mark shook his head. ‘I can’t – I can’t ever talk to her again.’

‘Again? You never did talk to her.’

Mark glared at Haechan through his tears. ‘Well, now I never will.“

„Why? What happened?’ Had Wendy got together with Youssef?

Mark breathed deeply for a moment, his face stricken.

‘I accidently ran into her in the hallway and she rolled her eyes at me.”’

Haechan blinked, then laughed. Mark shrank from me as though the laughter were some kind of poison.

‘Don’t mock me,’ he said. ‘Don’t you dare.“

„But I don’t understand why you’re upset,’ Haechan said. ‘Just because a girl bumped into you and wasn’t that amused?’

‘You haven’t seen it.“

Haechan frowned. This wasn’t a side of Mark he was particularly charmed by. ‘How do you know that she is angry at you though? Maybe she’s just having a bad day.’

Mark waved a dismissive hand. ‘You don’t get it.’

‘Then explain it to me.’

Mark burst into a fresh flood of tears. Haechan couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing. This whole time he had been trying to understand Mark and be patient with him. Now, out of all people, Mark accuses him of not being able to understand?

Haechan shook his head. He wanted to smack Mark in the face. He wanted to tell him that he spent too much time on the tumblr with all the other weirdos . . . except Mark still didn’t know that he knew that.

„Do you want to be her boyfriend?’ Haechan asked. ‘Then go talk to her! This is the twenty-first century, Mark. If she’s upset that you bumped into her then just apologize and say you will make it up by taking her on a date. Women are also people, this is not the end of the world.’

‘I don’t want to ask her out,” Mark muttered, looking sullen.

‘Well, I don’t want sit here and pamper you like a baby,’ Haechan said. ‘And I’m sure Wendy doesn’t either.’

Mark swallowed and gazed at his shoes for a long moment. ‘You’re right,’ he said at last, with considerable effort. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t freak out like that.’

Haechan nodded with a frown. He was pretty sure this conversation wasn’t over.

* * *

‘Hey,’ Haechan said, sitting down on the bench beside Mark at recess the next day. Mark jumped, then nodded without looking at him and took off his headphones.

‘What are you listening to?’ Haechan asked.

‘Stuff,’ he said. ‘You know.’ Mark floundered. ‘Er. Rock and roll?’

Haechan raised his eyebrows. ‘What are you really listening to?’

‘Sam Smith,’ he said with a wry smile.

Haechan laughed. ‘I see. How are you?’ he asked. ‘Anything to report?’

‘We were supposed to do fitness testing in Biology,’ said Mark. ‘Run around the racetrack and then measure resting heart rate. I wagged.’

„You really don’t like physical exercise,’ Haechan observed.

‘I hate touching the equipment.’ Mark shuddered. ‘All those sweaty germs.’

‘You should be a girl,’ Heachan said. ‘They can always say they have their period.’

Mark blushed bright red at period. Then he sighed. ‘I wish I were a girl. They have it so easy.’

Haechan narrowed my eyes. ‘The grass is always greener,’ he told Mark. ‘The downside to being able to say you can’t do PE because your period pain is so bad, is that sometimes it’s true.’

‘Hm. But girls don’t bully,’ Mark said. ‘They don’t fight. They’re not violent.’

Mark seriously knew nothing about the world, or women. Haechan stared at him until he blushed.

  
‘What?’ Mark said.

‘Are you serious? You think girls don’t bully, or fight, or be violent?’

‘Well, they don’t. Girls are calm and play quiet games and are nice to each other.’

Haechan felt genuinely angry. ‘You’re nuts. Do you hear yourself?’

‘I am nuts,’ said Mar, suddenly cold. ‘We’ve established that already. I’m crazy. I’m mental. Deal with it.’

‘No,’ Mark said. ‘You’re not going to blame this ridiculous misogyny on your condition.’

‘I’m not a misogynist,’ Mark said, his brow knitting. ‘I love women. That’s part of my whole problem. That’s why I can’t talk to them and date them, remember?’

„Your problem,’ Haechan snapped, ‘is that you see girls as these perfect humans instead of seeing them as people. Come on.’ he stood up.

‘Where?’

„I need to show you something. I think you need to understand a little more about girls.’

Mark seemed alarmed.

‘Don’t worry,’ Haechan said. ‘I’m not going to make you talk to any of them.’

He crossed his arms and looked impatient until finally Mark climbed to his feet and followed him across the courtyard. They skirted the edge of the cricket field, Mark hunched over defensively, his eyes on the hurtling balls.

‘What?’ he muttered, when he saw Haechan’s amused look. ‘I don’t want to get hit in the head. I could get a concussion.’

Between the cricket oval and the pool were two basketball courts. They wandered over to the closest one.

‘Observe,’ Haechan said. ‘Boys playing basketball.’

Mark looked disgusted.

‘They’re aggressive, sure,’ Haechan said. ‘See how Doyoung is trying to block Johnny’s access to the ball. But that’s his role in the game, he’s supposed to block Johnny and stop him from scoring. And he’s willing to put his body on the line to do it. Look.’

‘I don’t want to look,’ said Mark. ‘I hate it here. Can we go?’  
‘Just pay attention,’ Haechan said. ‘This is important. Now, Johnny is pretty pissed off, right? And Doyoung looks like he wants to tackle Johnny to the ground. Do you think he will?’

‘I don’t know. Probably.’

‘Let’s see, shall we?’

They watched the game. Despite Doyoung’s attempts, Johnny’s team was better, and just as the whistle blew, one of the other boys sunk a final three-pointer, and it was over. Haechan made a mental note to have a word to the coach, because it was clear none of those boys had been introduced to the concept of strategy.

‘A pretty humiliating loss,’ he said to Mark. ‘But what do the losers do? They shake hands with each member of the winning team. Now watch Johnny and Doyoung.’

After the handshake, Doyoung gave Johnny a playful shove, and then they walked together to the side of the court, where they grabbed towels and water and slumped onto the bench.

‘They don’t seem so angry now, do they?’

Mark shook his head. ‘But that’s my point,’ he said. ‘They’re all normal and friendly now, but put a ball between them and they want to kill each other.’

Haechan put his hand on Mark’s shoulder and he flinched. Haechan pulled away. ‘Let’s go look at the other court now.’

The girls’ game was still going.

‘Watch these girls,’ Haechan said. ‘Specifically, that one over there with the blonde ponytail.“

He pointed to the girl, who was standing so close to Yeri that a less erudite person than Haechan would have described her as being ‘all up in Yeri’s grill’.

‘What about her?’

‘Look at her hands.’

Mark frowned. ‘What do you mean? Her hands are . . . hands. She doesn’t seem to be doing anything inappropriate with them.’

‘Look closer. Look at her fingernails.’

‘Is that . . . elastoplast?’  
Hachan nodded. ‘Why do you think she is wearing elastoplast over her fingernails?’

‘I don’t know. So she doesn’t damage them? I know girls don’t like to break their nails.’

Haechan snorted. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not so she doesn’t damage them. Officially it’s to stop her from accidentally scratching Yeri when she grabs for the ball. Girls’ basketball is physical and rough – just like boys’ basketball. Girls are not calm, quiet and nice on a basketball court. And untaped fingernails are weapons.’

Mark was taken aback.

‘And if you ask me, unofficially it’s to stop her from scratching Yeri’s eyes out after Yeri takes a three-pointer.’

The girl slammed into Yeri. Yeri fell to the ground, and the girl ‘accidentally’ trod on her hand. Mark flinched. The referee’s whistle blew and the girl was fouled off the court.

‘Now look at her mouthguard. Can you read the words on it?’

‘It says . . . bite me?“

„Right. Not so nice.’

Without the girl in the game, Yeri owned the court, shooting two- and three-pointers at will to take her team to an easy victory.

Haechan turned to Mark.‘Remember what happened after the last game?’ he said. ‘The boys all shook hands and were friends again. Do you think they will do that?’

Mark turned wide eyes on him, hopeful. ‘The girls are shaking hands too,’ he pointed out.

Haechan raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s probably going to lay into Yeri in the changing rooms, because Yeri got her fouled out of the game.’

‘I think I need to sit down.’

They walked away from the court, over to a bench in the shade of a large gum tree.

‘Not all girls are like her,’ Haechan said. ‘And not all girls are . . . what did you say? Calm and play quiet games and are nice to each other. Girls are people, just like boys. Everyone is different.’

Mark stared at Haechan as if he’d thrown a puppy in front of a train. ‘Why are you telling me this tho?”

Haechan sighed. ‘Don’t you see my point? Girls don’t have it easier. They don’t get bullied less, they’re not less violent. Girls are just as horrible, mean and selfish as boys. You always try to tell yourself that girls are so much better than guys, and that guys are disgusting, and I don’t know why you believe that… but that’s not true. We are all just people. My point is, you can’t go around saying boys are like this and girls are like that, because it doesn’t work that way.“

Mark looked confused.

‘Men aren’t from Mars,’ Haechan told him. ‘And women aren’t from Venus. When you get down to it, there are some people who are nice, some people who aren’t, and a whole lot of fuzzy grey in between.’

Mark wove his fingers into his hair and scratched thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘You’re right, of course. I know that. It’s just . . . easier to think of girls as this great unattainable Nirvana that I’ll never be able to reach. Because that way . . .’ He choked on his on words. ‘I... I… I’m sorry.’

There was something that Mark was hiding, Haechan could feel that, but he didn’t want to upset the boy even more.

‘It’s okay.’

‘No,’ said Mark. ‘It’s not okay. I’m acting like a dick, and I’m really sorry. I just— It’s hard, but I’m going to change. I was being silly, and I’m sorry.’

‘Fair enough,’ Haechan said.

Mark looked at him for a moment, a little frown between his eyebrows. ‘Can . . . Can I ask you a personal question?’

‘Sure.’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What frightens you? What makes you anxious?’

‘Wait,’ Haechan said. ‘Are you asking me what makes me feel fear, or what makes me feel anxiety? They’re different. Fear makes you want to be with others, but anxiety makes you want to be alone.’

‘Either. Stop avoiding the question.’

‘I wasn’t trying to avoid it. I was just clarifying.’

‘So now it’s clear.’

Haechan thought about it.

‘Nothing,’ He said. ‘I can’t think of anything.’

Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not afraid of anything.’

Haechan shrugged. 

‘Spiders?’ asked Mark.

‘Nope. I mean, I don’t want to get too close to a real one, but daddy-long-legs and huntsmen are fine.’

‘Heights?’

Haechan shook his head.

‘The dark?’

‘I find the dark peaceful,’ Haechan said. ‘I miss it, living in the city.’

‘What about getting needles? Everyone hates getting needles.’

‘Doesn’t bother me.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Mark. ‘I’m afraid of people, specifically girls, but I’m pretty frightened of boys too, to be honest. I’m frightened of my father and my mother. I’m frightened about germs and getting sick. I can’t bear spiders or mice or moths or cockroaches. I hate going to the dentist. Or the doctor, or anyone else who might make me take my clothes off or stick something into me.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ Haechan said. ‘I guess I’m just well-rounded.’

‘You’re in denial, that’s what you are.’

‘I’m not! I just don’t have any phobias.’

‘What about losing?’

‘What?’

‘Imagine if you came last in a big swimming race? Or lost a debate? Or didn’t get elected?’

Haechan remembered the heart-hammering terror he’d felt when Doyoung had nearly beaten him in that Debating final a few years ago. He’d only won by two points. ‘It wouldn’t happen.’

‘Or what if you got a mark that wasn’t an A?’

‘Wanting to be good at stuff isn’t a phobia,’ Haechan said. ‘I simply have high personal standards.’

‘Fear of failure is a phobia,’ said Mark.

‘Well, I don’t have that. I just like winning.’

‘What if you failed Year Ten? What if you didn’t get into journalism at uni?’

The bell jangled for the end of recess, and Haechan felt suddenly ill-at-ease. What subject did he have next? Was there homework he hadn’t done? He didn’t like the way Mark was messing with his mind.

‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘None of that would ever happen, because I wouldn’t let it happen.’

‘No,’ said Mark. ‘And I’ll never have a nervous breakdown over talking to a girl. Because I won’t let that happen.’

‘But that’s different,’ Haechan said, feeling his face heat up. ‘You’re avoiding your fears and problems. I’m in control of my life. That’s what makes us different.’

‘Maybe,’ said Mark. ‘But what if you can’t fix me? You can’t control me.’

Haechan didn’t have a reply to that.

* * *

„Haechan!’

It was Ms Kang. Her hair was particularly untidy, and she looked worried. ‘Haechan, is everything okay?’

‘With me? Of course. Everything’s fine.’

Concern was written all over hers face. ‘You didn’t—’ she started.

What was she so upset about? Had he forgotten . . .The article. Damn.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Haechan said. ‘It totally slipped my mind. I’ll do it today, I promise.’  
Ms Kang shook her head. ‘We did the final compile and sent it to the layout team yesterday,’ she said, her concern giving way to annoyance.

‘But . . . the article . . . ’

‘Irene finished it.’

Haechan blinked. ‘So . . . there’ll nothing by me in the paper?“

This had never happened before. He’d had a minimum of one article in the newspaper every month since Year Seven. And now a whole issue would go to the printer with nothing. Not so much as an editorial note or a book review.

‘I’ll do something,’ he promised. ‘I’ll slip it in before it goes to the printer next week. I’ll make it fit.’

‘Are you sure everything’s okay, Haechan?’ asked Ms Kang. ‘Nothing’s happened to upset or distract you?’

Everything had happened, but Haechan couldn’t tell her that. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I really am sorry.’

‘You have a lot of extracurricular commitments,’ said Ms Kang. ‘I’m sure everyone would understand if you dropped a few to make more room in your life.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I really am fine. It won’t happen again. I’ll be at the next newspaper meeting, I promise.’

‘But—’

‘I have to go,’ Haechan interrupted, and scurried away down the corridor.

* * *

‘I need to get a job,’ said Mark, the next day. ‘My therapist wants me to start talking to more people – especially more girls. And she says a structured interaction like serving someone at a cash register is a good way of practising.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Haechan said. They were sitting in their usual spot outside the science labs, away from the lunchtime bustle.

Mark didn’t look so sure. ‘I’m scared of touching money.’

‘Scared that other people’s greed will rub off on you?’

‘Scared that other people’s germs will rub off on me. Did you know that 94 per cent of banknotes in Spain carry traces of cocaine? And faecal bacteria and staphylococcus are found on 42 per cent of American notes?’

‘Where do you get these statistics from?’

‘Yet another charming example of my epic mentalness.’ Mark’s lips curled in a self-mocking smile.

‘Silly boy,’ Haechan told him, and Mark shrugged.

‘My therapist has given me some exercises to do about the germ thing,’ he said. ‘I have to pick up some rubbish and then not wash my hands for an hour. On Sunday I have to go the whole day without a shower. And I have to shake hands with someone and not wash my hands afterwards.’

His shoulders hunched up in an embarrassed cringe.

‘Was that a request?’ Haechan asked. ‘Do you want to shake hands with me?’

‘No,’ said Mark quickly. ‘And yes. This is harder than it should be.’

‘Because…. I’m a boy?’

He nodded. ‘I’m not gay or anything, so don’t get wrong ideas. But at least I know your hands are cleaner than most boy’s.’

Haechan held out his hand. Mark swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he reached out and took Haechan’s hand.

Haechan expected it to be clammy and nervous, but it wasn’t. Mark’s hand was warm, and very soft, but not limp. Haechan squeezed his hand a little, and to his delight Mark squeezed back, in a proper handshake. Haechan grinned at him, and Mark dropped his hand.

‘See?’ Haechan said. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Mark bowed his head, but he was smiling. His ears were pink and he was so utterly pleased and proud of himself that it was hard for Haechan not to throw his arms around the boy and give him a big hug. One step at a time.

* * *

Haechan arrived home to discover the soggy towel and bathers that he’d forgotten to rinse on his bedroom floor. Great. Now his whole room smelled of damp and chlorine. He sighed and tossed them into the laundry, then checked Mark’s blog. Nothing new. This was a good sign. Now that Mark had him to talk to, he didn’t have to post.

Dad stuck his head around the door. ‘Can I come in?’

Haechan nodded, and his dad came in and sat on the bed. Was this going to be another lecture about how he should be talking to his mother?

‘So I got a call from your school today,’ he said, picking up a pink highlighter and popping the cap off and on.

‘Oh?’

‘Some of your teachers are . . . concerned. About your recent behaviour.’

Haechan blinked. ‘What recent behaviour? Is this about the swimming carnival?’

‘That was mentioned, yes. And apparently you’ve been skipping classes, and neglecting your extracurricular activities.’

Morons. Couldn’t the concert band or debating team function without him?

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘No, sweetheart, of course not. Your teachers just want to make sure you’re okay. As do I.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sometimes I think you take on too many projects,’ he said. ‘Debating, the newspaper, swimming, oboe. Maybe you could drop a thing or two. Especially since your studies are getting more intense as you approach Year Eleven.’

Haechan rolled his eyes. ‘Dad, I’m fine. I’m not under too much pressure. I can handle my extra commitments. But they’re called “extracurricular” because they’re not compulsory. I missed a couple of meetings. Who cares? It’s not like we ever do anything important anyway.’

‘I haven’t heard you practise your oboe lately.’

‘I’ve been doing it when I get home from school,’ Haechan lied. ‘You’re still at work.’

Dad put down the highlighter and looked uncomfortable.

‘What?’ Haechan said flatly. ‘What’s going on?’

‘The teacher I spoke to suggested you see the school guidance counsellor. She’s got some time on Monday morning.’

‘No.’ This was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with him! He was just busy working on an assignment.

‘When I said “suggested” . . . ’ Dad trailed off.

‘They’re forcing me to see a guidance counsellor?’

‘No, not forcing, as such . . . ’

‘So what happens if I don’t go?’

‘You’ll have to drop your extracurricular activities.’

* * *

‘Would you like to order?’

Haechan looked up from his phone. ‘Um, no thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

The waiter nodded and left him alone.It was Saturday night, and he was waiting for Mark. They were going on a date. A practice-date. Mark had resisted the idea at first, but Haechan had threatened to turn up at his house again for dinner, and he caved pretty quickly.

But now he was fifteen minutes late and Haechan was afraid Mark’d bailed on him. He tapped his fingers on the table. He’d actually made quite an effort, wearing makeup (rare for him) and perfume. They’d arranged to meet at La Cucina, a cute little Italian restaurant in the city. Dad and him ate there all the time, so the waiters knew who he was. And it wasn’t so flash or crowded or noisy that it would freak Mark out.

Haechan’s stomach rumbled. There was ravioli on the Specials menu, and he hoped Mark would arrive soon so he could order it before the chef ran out.

Twenty minutes late.

Twenty-five.

Haechan sighed and decided to order the ravioli anyway, and eat it on his own. He was signalling the waiter when – miracle of miracles – the door to the restaurant opened and Mark appeared, carrying a small plastic bag.

Haechan’s stomach turned over. Mark’d come! He’d actually turned up!  
Haechan waved. Mark ducked his head and sidled past the other diners to our table, where he sank into his chair with a sigh of relief. He was nicely dressed in a black shirt and dark jeans, and his hair was as cool as always. A table full of older girls looked over at him appraisingly, and Haechan felt rather proud to be seen with such a hot guy. But now that Mark was up close, he could see the sheen of sweat on the boy’s pale forehead.

‘Are you okay?’ Haechan asked.

Mark nodded. ‘I think so. I nearly didn’t make it.’

‘Frozen again?’

He ducked his head again. ‘And I had to sneak out, because I didn’t want to tell my mother where I was going.’

‘Why not?’

‘Too embarrassing.’

Haechan had a sudden flashback to Mark’s mum crying into her leathery beef and tried not to shudder.

‘But you’re here now,’ he said, handing Mark a menu. ‘Which is wonderful. A big step. Well done.’

Mark blushed and seemed pleased, then the faintly mocking expression took over. ‘One small step for everyone else, one giant leap for Mark Lee, Emotional Cripple.’

‘Silly sausage,’ Haechan said.

‘One giant leap for Mark Lee, Silly Sausage,’ he said, and allowed himself a genuine smile. Haechan smiled back.

‘I brought you something,’ Mark said, passing Haechan the bag. ‘I didn’t have any wrapping paper. But I wanted to say thanks.’

It was a crocheted sunflower.

‘Mom taught me that when I was younger and the flower kinda reminds me of you,’ Mark explained. ‘So this is for you.Because you helped me find my courage.’

Haechan thought his smile might split his face in half. ‘Thank you,’ he said, feeling unbelievably touched.

The waiter returned, and they ordered. Mark pulled a small stack of white cards out of his back pocket.  
‘Are you making a speech?’ Haechan asked.

‘My therapist gave me some ideas for conversation topics that I could try out.’

The debater in Haechan couldn’t help but respect a guy who brought note-cards along on a date. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘The floor is yours.’

‘Um,’ Mark said, looking down at the first card nervously. ‘What are your plans for next year?“

Haechan grinned, and they started to talk. Mark’s left eyelid twitched every time the conversation lulled, but all in all it went well. He asked Haechan questions and seemed to be genuinely interested in the answers, pausing thoughtfully before responding. Haechan could almost believe he was on a real date, with a normal boy. It was quite nice, really.

‘So, why journalism?’ asked Mark. ‘You could do anything, surely. Why not become a lawyer and earn heaps of money, or a politician and rule the world?’

Haechan picked up his fork and studied it. ‘Journalism’s exciting,’ he said. ‘I don’t ever want a job where I get bored. Where the only challenge is getting the next promotion. I want to travel and see amazing things and meet amazing people. And I want to share that. Most people don’t think enough, don’t wonder about what the outside world is like. I want to make people think. Make them ask questions. I want to change the rules, do things that no one has ever done before.’

‘What about you?’ Haechan asked. ‘What do you want to do when you leave school?’

Mark thought about it. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do anything. Now…’ He closed his eyes, looking overwhelmed. ‘I’d like to do something where I could be outside. Work with plants. Landscape gardening or something.’

‘That sounds nice,’ Haechan said, and then, because he seemed a bit more comfortable, I decided to throw him a challenge. ‘So have you given any thought to coming to the social next Friday?’

Mark screwed up his face and buttered a piece of bread. ‘I don’t think I want to go,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready.’

Haechan put on his I’m disappointed in you face. ‘Well, I think you are ready. Look at you, being on a date, in a restaurant. There are candles on the table. It’s almost romantic!’

‘Yeah,’ said Mark. ‘But this is different. It isn’t . . . a social.’

‘You’ll never get better until you face your fears. And you chickened out on Wendy’s party. You owe me.’

Their food arrived and Mark looked relieved.

After dessert, Haechan leaned back in my chair with a contented sigh.

‘That was good,’ said Mark, licking the last bit of sorbet from his spoon. ‘Really good.’

It must have been really good, Haechan thought, after being served stringy overcooked rubbish every night.

‘Shall we go for a walk?’ he suggested. ‘I’m stuffed to the gills and could use a little fresh air.’

‘Okay.“

They wandered through the city, peering down alleyways and into the windows of interesting little shops.

‘What’s it like?’ Mark asked. ‘Living in the city?’

‘I love it,’ Haechan told him. ‘I love the food and the energy, and having everything so close. I know that no matter what time of the day or night, there’s always something happening, in a laneway or a tiny theatre or a cavernous art gallery. There’s always music and people and life.’

‘Where did you live before?’ asked Mark.

‘A normal house in the suburbs,’ Haechan said. ‘Nothing special.’

‘Why did you move?’

‘My parents broke up.’ Haechan didn’t really want to talk about it.

‘I’m sorry.’ It really sounded as if Mark was. ‘And you live with your dad now? Do you still see your mum?’

We passed a busker playing ‘Candle in the Wind’ on a ukulele. ‘No, she moved... for work.’  
And then, because he wanted to be honest with Mark, he added, ‘Or at least that’s the official story. The real reason is that she freaked out about my dad being gay and ran away.’

Mark blinked. ‘Your dad’s gay?’

Haechan realised that even though he knew pretty much everything about Mark, the boy didn’t really know much about him. He nodded.

‘But you didn’t freak out,’ Mark said. ‘You stayed with your dad. You could have gone with your mum, couldn’t you?’

Not when she left without me. Haechan shrugged. ‘Dad didn’t do anything wrong. He was just being honest about who he is. Sure, I was surprised. But it wouldn’t be fair to be angry at him for being honest.’

‘That’s . . . amazing,’ said Mark. ‘I think I would have been more selfish about it. Angry that my family had broken up. If I’d had your family, of course,’ he added. ‘I expect I wouldn’t have nearly so many problems if my parents had broken up when I was little.’

‘Maybe not,’ Haechan said.

‘But I mean it,’ said Mark. ‘A lot of people wouldn’t be so understanding. You’re a good person.’

Haechan felt a warm glow spread through his body. ‘Thank you,’ he said, genuinely flattered. He smiled up at Mark, and the boy smiled back, and for a moment Haechan felt just like he was on a date with an ordinary boy.

‘Do you miss your mum?’ Mark asked.

‘No,’ Haechan said shortly, but he knew that despite his resolution to be honest with Mark, he was lying.

They paused before a florist’s shop with a wild, tangled green window display.

‘Haechan?’ There was a little tremble in Mark’s voice. ‘How does this work in real life? On a real date?’

Haechan was a little stung. ‘What am I, your imaginary friend?’

‘You know what I mean. Tonight has been good and I feel a lot better about the idea of . . . going on a date. But how do I do it for real?’

‘You find a girl you like, then you ask her to go out to dinner with you. Or to a movie. Or bowling.’

‘But what happens then?’ asked Mark.

‘What do you mean?’ Haechan said.

‘What happens after I ask her out?’

Haechan blinked. ‘You go out.’  
Mark frowned. ‘But then what? At what point in the date do you move things forward? Should I try to hold her hand? Kiss her? Do I open doors for her? Buy her dinner?’

‘You have to figure it out as you go,’ Heachan said. ‘You can offer to pay for her dinner if you like, but it’s probably better to split the bill on the first date, as we did tonight. And the other stuff. . . you just have to read her signals.’

‘Like what?“

‘Like, if she’s leaning forward and laughing and making lots of eye contact, then she probably likes you, and you could try holding her hand.’

Haechan couldn’t believe that he was actually giving Mark dating advice. It wasn’t as if he himself were the most experienced person in the world at dating. But he’d seen plenty of cheesy with Dad and Josh, so he knew the basic rules.

‘And kissing?’

‘I don’t know,’ Haechan said. ‘I guess you just know if it’s appropriate. You should be able to sense it.’

Mark didn’t seem convinced. ‘But then what?’

‘Well, if you decide it’s appropriate, then you kiss her.’

Mark traced his finger over the lettering stencilled on the shop window. ‘But how?’

‘How do you kiss her?’ Haechan was beginning to get out of his depth. He’d never kissed anyone either, not really.

‘Um,’ I said. ‘You know. You just kiss. Press your lips against her lips.’

‘I know that,’ said Mark. ‘But then what happens? There must be more to it.’

Was there more to it? Was there stuff Haechan should know about kissing? He thought back through all the romantic comedies.

‘I guess you just try to be gentle,’ he said. ‘Don’t slobber on her. Don’t lick her face.’

‘Tongue?’

‘Probably not the first time.’ Haechan was a bit nervous about where this conversation was headed. HIs palms were growing sweaty, and he wiped them on his jeans.

‘And what do I do with my hands?’  
Mark’s face was totally open and interested, without any trace of anxiety or shyness. His hair flopped over his forehead and his eyebrows crinkled in his cute questioning way. Maybe he really was getting better.

‘I’ll show you,’ Haechan said, and moved a little closer to Mark.

Mark looked uncertain.

‘Come on,’ Haechan said. ‘I promise I won’t bite.’

He stepped in close to Mark. He smelled very clean, like laundry detergent and flowers. Haechan could feel him tense as he got closer.

Haechan took one of Mark’s hands and put it behind him, around his waist, and Mark’s other around behind his back, so that the boy’s arms encircled him.

‘I think it’s a bit like this,’ Haechan said, moving even closer. He could feel his own heart beating so fast it was making his chest vibrate. His breath came in shallow gasps.

‘Um,’ Mark said, and swallowed.

‘And then,’ Haechan said, his voice very soft. He tilted my face up towards Mark’s and put his arms around the boy’s shoulders. ‘I think it goes something . . . like . . . “

He closed my eyes, leaned upwards and pressed his lips against Mark’s. His mouth felt soft and cool. haechan tightened his arms around the boy, but didn’t feel him do the same. He was pretty nervous, Haechan supposed.

Haechan let his lips open a little and leaned forward even further, pressing himself up against Mark. He felt solid and comforting, and Haechan’s stomach squirmed in a really, really good way. He let his eyes open a teeny crack to see how Mark was responding.

Mark’s eyes were wide open. Haechan pulled away. Mark was frozen, an expression of total horror on his face.

Haechan stepped back. ‘What’s wrong?’

Mark shook his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ Haechan said. ‘Was that too much? Too soon? I was only trying to help.’

That wasn’t entirely true. He’d kissed Mark because he wanted to. He did want to help, but he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t for journalistic reasons. Haechan wanted Mark to get better so they could be together. He wanted Mark to fall in love with him, the way . . .

Oh.

Was he falling in love with Mark?

Mark finally spoke. ‘How dare you?’

‘What?’

He was white, and shaking. ‘How dare you do that to me? How dare you touch me like that. Kiss me.’

The happy squirming in Haechan stomach had been replaced with an ugly, sick feeling.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You can’t do that,’ said Mark. ‘You can’t be all supportive and listen and talk to me like I’m not a total freak, and then try to screw me up by playing games.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Haechan said. ‘I wasn’t playing games.’

‘Oh, so I suppose you did it out of the goodness of your heart. To help me.’

Haechan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. An elderly couple passed them on the street, avoiding eye contact.

‘Or, or, or maybe you did it because you secretly like me,’ said Mark. ’But not everyone is like your dad, Haechan! You can’t just… do that to me! I’m not… not like that.’

‘I thought...,’ Haechan managed.

‘Thought what? That I’m…. gay? You don’t know me,’ Mark said. ‘You act like you do. You act like you understand. But you don’t. How can you know me after talking to me for a few days? You know nothing. ’

‘I do know you,’ Heachan told him, feeling as if he was going to cry and hating himself for it. ‘I do.’

‘You don’t. You’re just as bad as all the rest of them. You’re just like them. I thought things were changing. I thought I was getting better. But I’m still standing knee-deep in the water. It’s still too cold. I still can’t go in.’

Heachan grabbed Mark’s arm and he flinched. People were watching them from inside the cocktail bar on the other side of the street. ‘Mark,’ he said. ‘I promise. You can take as long as you like to dive in. I’ll wait.’

Mark stared at him as though Heachan were a monster. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said I’ll wait.’

‘I don’t want you to wait for me,’ said Mark. ‘I’m not interested.

His face was suddenly cold and distant. Heachan’d never seen him look that way before. He didn’t look frightened or weak or anxious.

‘I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t…. need you. I want you out of my life.’

‘Mark,’ Heachan said with a shaky voice. ‘I’m sorry I tried to kiss you. I won’t do it again. I promise.’

He wasn’t sorry for that. Haechan was sorry Mark hadn’t kissed him back. This was all going wrong. Mark’s face flickered from cold to hurt and landed on cruel.

‘As if I care,’ he said. ‘And anyway, I can’t believe you’d ever think I’d go for you anyway. You’re so not my type. You are a boy and you’re not even pretty.’

‘Hey,’ Haechan said. ‘Back off. I wasn’t trying to upset you, okay?“

‘No,’ said Mark. ‘It’s not okay. And where do you get off being so all-knowing about people and relationships? You’ve never had one either. I bet you’ve never kissed anyone yourself until now.’

Haechan glared down at a squashed cigarette butt on the footpath, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

‘You act like you’re so much better than me,’ he continued. ‘Like I’m this freakish charity case and you’re my therapist, like you’ve got all the answers. Like you’re perfectly adjusted and happy in your life.’

‘I am happy,’ Haechan said. ‘My life is just fine, thank you.’

Mark had come over all nasty, red blotches standing out on his cheeks.

‘You’re not happy,’ he said. ‘You hide behind all the crap you do at school, the Debating and swimming and that stupid newspaper. You’ve got this crazy idea that having a good career is the only thing that matters. Well, it isn’t. People matter, too.’

‘I know people matter,’ Haechan said. ‘I have people.’

‘Do you?’

‘Of course I do,’ Heachan said. ‘I have Dad.“

‘But you don’t have any actual friends,’ Mark said. ‘You spend your life running around being busy, to hide the fact that you are actually totally lonely. You don’t let anyone in. You never admit you’re wrong about anything. People look up to you, and you get invited to parties and you’re reasonably popular. But that’s not the same thing as having friends. You’re just as bad as I am.’

Heachan had no words to reply. Because Mark was right.

* * *

Ms Park asked him to call her Fei. Haechan didn’t. He didn’t call her anything. She sat behind her desk wearing an understanding and compassionate expression. But that was her job. She didn’t really care.

‘We merely want to make sure you’re not under too much pressure, Haechan,’ she said.  
He didn’t say anything. The third rule of interviewing also worked if you were the interviewee. Hopefully she’d chat for the whole half hour, and then he could escape.

‘Is everything all right at home?’

Haechan managed a tiny nod.

‘Have you fought with any of your friends?’

He didn’t have any friends. He’d had one, but then he tried to kiss him and ruined everything.

Ms Park sighed and made a few notes on a piece of paper. ‘Haechan,’ she said, crinkling her brow. ‘I can see that you don’t want to talk, which is highly unusual, knowing what I do about you. Your teachers say that you seem distracted during class, and they’re concerned that you’re struggling with the pressure of your extracurricular commitments.

You’ve missed multiple meetings of the newspaper, you’re unresponsive in class, you haven’t been to a band rehearsal in a fortnight, and there was that whole business where you were disqualified from the swimming carnival. If you’re not willing to give me an explanation for your erratic behaviour . . . ’

She paused to see if Heachan did want to give her an explanation. He didn’t.

‘Well, then you leave me no choice. I’ve spoken to your teachers about reducing your extracurricular load, and I’m afraid I’ll have to tell them you won’t be returning to the orchestra or the swim team. You may attend your Debating final tonight, but after that your team will need to find a replacement for you. Ms Kwang has requested you speak to her directly about whether or not you will continue working on the newspaper.“

Could she really do that? Make him give everything up?  
‘Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to talk to me about?’ asked Ms Park.

Haechan hated her for trying to blackmail him into talking about his feelings. Well, it wouldn’t work. He stared stonily at the corner of her desk.

‘Then I think that’s all for today,’ she said, sliding her piece of paper into a manila folder. ‘Thank you, Haechan.’

He made his way to his locker and stood frozen in front of it, staring at the lock.

‘Did you forget your combination?’

Jaemin had crept up beside him.

‘Haechan? Are you okay?’

Why did everyone keep asking him that? ‘I’m fine,’ Haechan said. ‘Just busy.’

‘I brought you the latest Black Butler Manga.’ Jaemin produced a small book with a black-haired boy on the cover.

‘I don’t want it,’ Haechan said. ‘I haven’t even read the other ones.’

Jaemin looked confused. ‘Oh, sorry, I thought you had. You said—“

‘I have to go.’ Heachan had the sudden overwhelming feeling that he was going to cry, and he couldn’t. Not in front of Jaemin. His friend would be all concerned, and that’d just make everything worse.

‘Do you want to come and sit with us at lunch today?’ Jaemin asked.

‘No,’ Haechan said. ‘I don’t want to sit with you at lunch today. Just leave me alone.’

He turned and walked away, admittedly a bit melodramatic, but not before he saw Jaemin’s bottom lip tremble, and his eyes fill with tears. But it was better this way. Haechan was meant to be a loner.

He wagged Maths and sat by himself in the library, staring at the scratches on a desk that proclaimed that JAEHYUN LOVES JOHNNY’S MUM and that TY IS HOTTT. He tried not to think about the newspaper or friendship or stupid Ms Park, the guidance counsellor.

When the lunch bell rang, and students started to file into the library, he tried to shrink int his chair. He knew everyone was looking at him. Judging him. He’d had enough.

He pushed his chair back, picked up his bag, and walked out of the library and straight out the front gate of the school. He didn’t care if anyone saw, or if he got detention. He was going home.

* * *

Haechan stayed on the couch in his pyjamas for the rest of the day. Dad came home just after five, but he didn’t get up.

‘Haechan?’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’

Haechan flipped a page of his book. ‘I’m not feeling well.’

‘Do you want anything? Ginger tea?’

‘I’m just really tired.’

‘Do you want me to stay home tonight? I have that Gala Dinner thing, but I can cancel.’

Haechan shook his head. ‘I’m okay.’

Dad nodded and wandered into his room. Haechan’s phone chirped a message and he glared at it. Whoever it was, he wasn’t interested.

Chirp, chirp.

Then it buzzed around on the coffee table with a call. He ignored it. It chirped again to indicate there was voicemail. Haechan turned it off. The home phone rang.

Dad came out of his room, an indigo and silver tie loose around his neck, and picked up the phone.

‘Haechan?’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s someone called Taeil. He wants to know when you’re planning on turning up to your Debating final.’

Crap. Haechan glanced at his watch. The debate started in half an hour. He could still make it. He hauled myself off the couch and dashed to his bedroom, hunting around for some clean clothes, then gave up and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing that morning.

‘Dad?’ he yelled, trying to find a matching sock. ‘Can you please call me a cab?’

* * *

Haechan slid into his seat at 5:59 with a sigh of relief. Taeil shot him a look with some very expressive eyebrows. Seulgi, their second speaker, glared at him.

‘Where were you?’ she hissed, but then the adjudicator rang a bell and Taeil stood up to a polite smattering of applause.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Over the next ten minutes, I will demonstrate how foreign aid doesn’t help the most vulnerable people in developing nations. Moreover, it actually causes harm.’

Haechan looked down at the stack of empty note-cards in front of him. Luckily he was the best speaker in the Region – he’d have no trouble winging this one. He took a sip of water and picked up a pen, ready to take notes.

Maybe if he debated really well, Ms Park wouldn’t make him give up Debating. Maybe he could just decimate the opposition, prove how totally on-the-ball he was with everything, and it would all be right again. he could have his extracurricular activities back.

Otherwise what would he do all day? Where would he go at lunchtime? Sit with Jaemin and the others? Not after the way he’d acted today. Haechan’d be surprised if Jaemin ever spoke to him again.

Taeil was still talking, but Haechan couldn’t hear him anymore. All he could hear was Mark’s voice, over and over again. ‘You’re just as bad as I am.’

But he was involved. He participated in school activities – He practically ran all the school activities. How would they put out the newspaper without him? Didn’t they realise the Debating team wouldn’t make any regional finals if he wasn’t there? And who would play first oboe in the orchestra?

And sure, sometimes he might have been a little distant. But he was a journalist. They had to be objective. There was no room in journalism for wishy-washy softness – they had to be ruthless and cutting-edge.

Haechan looked up. Taeil had sat down and a girl with braces from the opposition was saying something about earthquake victims in Haiti and ‘so-called administration fees’. Haechan wondered if she had any true friends. If she’d ever tried to kiss someone. If they’d kissed her back.

‘Millions of children in Malawi, Burundi and Kenya are going to school because of government aid,’ said Braces Girl. ‘Vaccination programs are wiping out diphtheria, tetanus and river blindness.’

He knew what Mark would say. You spend your life running around being busy, to hide the fact that you are actually totally lonely.

Taeil scribbled on a piece of paper and passed it to Seulgi, who handed it to Haechan.

GOVT AID = STATE BRIBERY

Haechan blinked and stared at it. Taeil nodded meaningfully at him, and Haechan nodded back. It was probably a good time to start paying attention.

He thought about Mark’s light-globe terrariums. He could see why theboy liked the idea of a tiny, safe, beautiful world. A world where you could be completely alone and nobody could touch you or hurt you. A world where you could just be you.

Seulgi nudged him in the ribs. It was his turn? Really? Already? When did she talk? Had he missed it?

Haechan stood up and looked at the panel of judges, and the crowd of people waiting to hear me speak.

‘Knock ’em dead,’ whispered Taeil.

Haechan’s throat was suddenly dry. He looked down at his stack of note-cards. On the first one, he had nothing written. He realised in horror that he had no idea whether they were on the positive or negative side. He hadn’t been listening. He turned to the next note card. It was blank. They were all blank.

He heard Mark’s voice in my head. Fear of failure is a phobia. It’s called atychiphobia. Fear of losing.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Maybe he could just walk out and wake up in my bed. What was it you were supposed to do when you couldn’t wake up from a dream? Blink? Jolt? He bit his tongue too, just for good measure, but nothing worked. He wasn’t waking up.

This was real.

This was real and he’d spent the first thirty seconds of his talk blinking furiously and jiggling up and down.

‘Haechan?’ whispered Taeil.

Haechan cleared his throat. ‘Should foreign aid be administered by… ?’ he said. ‘That’s what we’re here to find out. Or is it?’

He scanned the room, hoping that it would seem like an impressive pause.

‘Maybe we are asking the wrong question,’ he continued. ‘Maybe what’s really at stake here is people. Should we be helping people?’  
Taeil was staring at Haechan as if he were insane. Maybe he could do this. Maybe it’d be like the impassioned speech that comes at the end of the movie, where the lawyer or politician or whoever throws away their notes, speaks from the heart and saves the day.

‘Helping people is supposed to make you feel better,’ he said. ‘Altruism is supposed to be one of the greatest strengths of humanity. You help someone. Their life becomes better. You feel good about yourself. But what happens when that system fails? What happens when you try to help someone, but you just make everything worse?’

His voice sped up and heightened in pitch. HIs heart hammered. But he couldn’t stop.

‘And they’re unhappy, so they say things to you. Mean things. Untrue things. But then you start to wonder if those things are true. Maybe you are afraid of failure. Maybe you don’t have any friends. Maybe you are lonely.’

He was crying now. The judges were exchanging mutters and concerned frowns. The opposition looked as though they weren’t sure whether to be worried or jubilant.

‘So . . . ’ Haechan’s voice cracked and was punctuated with little sobs. ‘So maybe you shouldn’t have helped them at all. Maybe if you’d just left them alone, then they wouldn’t be angry and you wouldn’t have realised how terrible everything is.’

What was he doing?

‘I’m sorry,’ Haechan said, staring down at his cards, hoping that magically some notes would appear to save him. They didn’t.

The clock said he had seven minutes left. He couldn’t do it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, this time to Taeil and Seulgi. And he dropped his note-cards and ran out of the room.

* * *

Haechan sat out on the fire escape taking big gulps of air and crying. What was wrong with him? The door behind him banged open.

‘What the hell was that all about?’

Haechan shook his head and tried to tell Taeil that he didn’t know, but he couldn’t get the words out.

‘What’s wrong with you, Haechan?’ Taeil asked, his voice full of disappointment. ‘It’s like you just don’t care anymore. About school. About anything. Are you really so much better than us that you can’t be bothered preparing for a debate final?’

That only made Haechan cry harder. He hated the idea that he’d let people down. He was the reliable one! No matter how rubbish everyone else was, he could always bring it home and save the day. Not anymore, it seemed. He’d got my team disqualified from the swimming carnival. He’d been kicked out of the orchestra. He wasn’t allowed to debate anymore – not that any team would have him now. He’d missed my last two deadlines for the paper, and for what? Following a boy around, pretending to have all this journalistic integrity, all because he had a dumb crush.

Haechan hated himself.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he croaked out between sobs. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

There was a confused silence from Taeil, and then, ‘Move over.’

He sat down next to Haechan on the fire escape. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘We all choke occasionally. It’s what makes us human.’

‘I don’t,’ Haechan said. ‘Not ever. Not ever except for today.’

And a few other times lately that he could think of.

‘To be honest,’ said Taeil, ‘I’m kind of relieved to learn that you’re human like the rest of us. It gives me hope.’

‘What do you mean?“

Taeil paused, and Haechan looked up at him. Was he blushing? ‘You know. That the rest of us have a chance. That you won’t always be the best at everything. That maybe one day someone else will get the front page story on the newspaper, or come first in a swimming race, or play the oboe solo, or be class captain, or get the best-speaker award at a debate.’

Haechan sniffed. ‘Well, you got your wish. I’m not allowed to swim or be in the band or the debate team after tonight.’

‘What?’

‘I had to see the school counsellor. She says I’m over-committed and that’s why I keep dropping the ball.’ He swallowed another sob. ‘And after tonight I think maybe she’s right.’

Taeil was quiet again.

„Aren’t you glad?’ he asked. ‘That now you’ll be the best debater?’

Taeil didn’t reply.

Haechan started to cry in earnest again. ‘Do you really all hate me that much? That you want to see me lose? Is that all I am to you? Just someone to beat?’

‘Isn’t that how you see us?’ asked Taeil.

Haechan opened my mouth to deny it, but Taeil was right. He did see everyone else as competition.

‘But if I’m not the best at everything,’ he whispered, ‘what will be left of me? Why would people like me then?’

‘People don’t like you because you’re the best at everything.’

Heachan let out a wet laugh. ‘People don’t like me at all.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Taeil. ‘I like you.“

Haechan studied him. ‘Why?’ he asked, his voice barely audible.

‘You’re curious and interesting and very, very funny – even if you don’t always mean to be. You care about the world, and you’re fiery and ambitious and you don’t let anyone walk all over you. And you’re ridiculously smart, which is intimidating for some people, but it’s a big turn-on for me.’

Turn-on? Taeil went bright pink and turned away. ‘Now stop fishing for compliments,’ he muttered.

Haechan felt himself smile soggily, and suddenly everything didn’t seem as bad. Perhaps he was just being silly and needed some perspective.

‘Is that why you stuck your tongue in my ear at the cast party last year?’ he asked. ‘Because my incredible intellect turns you on?’

Taeil blinked. ‘What? I never stuck my tongue in your ear.’

‘Yes, you did.’

Taeil frowned, then gave a yelp of laughter. ‘I really didn’t,’ he said. ‘I was leaning over to ask you something, and you jumped sideways and you kind of ear-butted me. You nearly broke my nose.’

That wasn’t how Haechan remembered it. ‘What were you going to ask me, then?’

Taeil went a little pinker. ‘Never mind.’

They sat there awkwardly for a moment, then Taeil said, ‘He’s not worth it, you know.’

‘What? Who?’  
‘Mark Lee.’

Haechan felt as though someone were squeezing his throat. ‘What?’ he croaked. ‘How do you know about Mark?’

Taeil rolled his eyes. ‘Everybody knows,’ he said. ‘You wait at his locker and then wag Debating to go and sit with him every single day.’

Haechan’s mouth hung open. ‘But . . . ’ he said. ‘No. It’s not what you think.“

‘Really? Because I think you were drawn to his carefully cultivated air of mystery, the way all the other girls are. And for once he actually talked to someone, and that made you feel special, and you ended up falling for him.’

Haechan stared at him.

‘How close am I?’ Taeil asked.

‘Pretty close, actually,’ Haechan admitted.

Taeil seemed somehow disappointed, as though he hadn’t wanted to be right. ‘He’s just a idiot You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do know that.“

‘Good. Because if you’re going to throw away everything you’re good at, you should at least do it for someone who isn’t such a poseur.’

‘He’s not a poseur,’ Haechan said. ‘He’s just . . . he has a lot of stuff going on. It’s complicated.’

Taeil looked away again. ‘Are you in love with him?’

Was he? Haechan cared about Mark, he wanted the boy to be okay. But love?

‘No,’ Haechan said, and a wave of relief swept over him. ‘I don’t think so.’

He wasn’t in love with Mark. He’d had a stupid crush, and had done stupid things. But Taeil was right – he’d just been flattered that Mark paid attention to him. That the most unattainable boy had wanted to hang out with him.

Taeil nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.“

Then he stood up. ‘We’d better get back inside and find out how badly we lost the debate.’

He offered Haechan his hand. Hachan took it and Taeil pulled him to his feet-  
-  
Heachan flopped on his bed, feeling emotionally exhausted. For a moment he thought about going next door to see Jaemin, and apologize, but it was nearly ten at night.

He crawled off the bed and sat at his desk with a sigh. He wanted to turn on his laptop, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to be close to the internet, in case he was tempted to read Mark’s latest post. He didn’t want to see it. He wasn’t interested anymore.

He stared at the wall, where he’d pinned up a card containing the Nine Principles of Journalism. Haechan sighed. he’d probably broken them all. Number seven stood out particularly. Its practitioners must maintain an independence from those they cover.

He hadn’t maintained any independence from who he was covering. Not even a little bit. He’d got involved. He wasn’t an independent monitor. HIs loyalty wasn’t to his readers. It was to himself. At some point, he’d stopped talking to Mark for the lofty purposes of research and journalism, and started talking to the boy because he wanted to.

Because he liked Mark.

He’d been such an idiot.

It was ridiculous, because he didn’t like Mark! He was in the middle of some kind of grotesque, romantic fantasy where he’d rescue Mark from his self-made prison, and he’d be eternally grateful.

That was wrong. It was kind of creepy.

But Haechan did want to help Mark. Because if he could help Mark, then maybe he could help himself, too. They both thought they were safe in our little glass terrarium worlds, sheltered from cruelty and judgement and spite. But they were also sheltered from the good things, too. Such as love and friendship and feeling as if they belonged somewhere.

Hachan wanted to help Mark out of his glass globe.

The problem was, he’d been doing it all wrong. He’d been trying to break the glass of Mark’s terrarium to let him out, as though it were a prison. But if you break the glass, all the plants are suddenly exposed to the world and they die. It wasn’t a prison; it was more like a protective shell.

He had to coax Mark out slowly, show him that he could grow and flower in the outside world. That it was tough for everyone out here, but because they could work together and draw strength from each other, they could grow bigger and better and brighter than they ever could if they stayed inside their little glass globes.

Haechan knew what he had to do.

He turned on his laptop and navigated to babylion.tumblr.com And then did something he’d never done before, in all his visits to Mark’s blog. clicked the Comment button.  
IHe filled in the required fields, and paused at the Username box. Then he smiled a little and wrote Sunflower.

_‘Hi. It’s me._  
_ I am the opposite of shy._  
_ Things don’t make me anxious. I’m never nervous. I have a good life where both my parents love and support me. I have no trouble speaking to members of the opposite sex. But I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never really kissed anyone (although there have been a few embarrassing attempts)._  
_ I’ve never been in love. I can’t imagine being in love. I can’t imagine letting myself go, losing control. Giving myself over to someone else so completely that I’d feel a part of them. I don’t think I could do that._  
_ I am rational. Cynical. Aggressive. Fearless. Ambitious. Confident. I don’t want anyone to ever see that I’m weak. And it means I push people away. I don’t let people get close to me because I don’t want them to beat me, or to see me fail._  
_ So even though I have a very different life to you, I think we might be in the same boat. We’re both alone. Even though I am the opposite of shy, I think we have more in common than I ever could have imagined._  
_ I’m sorry if I hurt you. I really didn’t mean to. The thing is, and it really frightens me to admit this – I did want to kiss you. I didn’t do it to play games or to hurt you. I did it because I like you. Because I’ve been reading your posts and getting inside your brain, even though you didn’t know it. And then in real life you were so different and anxious and nervous, but as we got to know each other you started to relax. And I liked that. I liked you._  
_ So I’m sorry. And I hope you’ll forgive me.’_

Haechan hit Post and then closed down the browser and chewed his lip for a moment before picking up the phone and dialling the number written on the post-it Dad had stuck to his desk.

‘Hello?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Haechan? Is that you? Is everything okay? Is your father okay?’

He didn’t say anything for a moment. She’d asked after Dad. She thought he was calling because something had happened to Dad. And she was worried.

‘Haechan? Are you still there?’

‘I’m here, Mum. And everything’s fine. I’m fine, Dad’s fine. We’re all fine.’

But it didn’t feel fine. It had been two years since he’d called my mother ‘Mum’. He couldn’t help it. Tears slipped down his face, big fat tears that had been waiting behind his eyes for two years.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

He sniffed. ‘Mum,’ he said. ‘I miss you.’

Mum was quiet for a moment too, and then Heachan heard her voice, all quiet and wobbly because she was crying as well. ‘I miss you too, Channie. I miss you every single day.’

He took a deep breath. ‘And Dad? Do you miss Dad?’

Mum was quiet for even longer. ‘Of course I miss your father,’ she said. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Then why don’t you come home?’ he said. ‘Come back. And you and Dad can be friends again.’

‘I can’t,’ said Mum. ‘I still love your father. And I have a new life here now. But if you wanted to, you could come here. You do know that, right? There’s always room for you here, and I know you’re starting Year Eleven next year but we could find you a really good school . . . ’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want to live somewhere else. I like it here. I like living with Dad and I like my school and . . . my friends.’

Haechan thought about Mark and it felt as though something were squeezing his heart.

‘But Mum?’ he said. ‘I’d like to come and visit. Maybe in the holidays?’

‘I’d like that very much,’ said Mum. ‘Very, very much.’

They talked for a bit longer. Mum told him about her job, and about the beach down the road from her house. It sounded nice. Haechan told her about school, and even about Mark and the newspaper, and his Debating meltdown.

After he’d said goodbye to her, Haechan lays down on his bed and had a proper cry. It felt good, letting go of stuff that he’d been holding on to for years. And once he’d let it go he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t done it sooner. Eventually he calmed down, and felt kind of wobbly still, but strong. He turned back to his laptop. It was time to write.

* * *

Haechan didn’t want to go the social. He didn’t want to see all the people he went to school with who weren’t his friends. He hadn’t spoken to Jaemin, Taeil or Mark all week. He hid in the library at recess and lunch, and kept his head down in all his classes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to them – He was just scared of what they might say. Scared they might reject him.

He wasn’t really needed at the social anyway. Someone else from the paper could take photos of the best and worst outfits – that was all people wanted to read about. Nobody had cared about the piece he wrote last year on the spiking of the punch, and the effect that alcohol has on the teenage brain. Or the piece the year before about the meningitis epidemic that hit after everyone made out with everyone else. There was no point in being a journalist, all people wanted was gossip and trash.

So he wasn’t going. He didn’t even go to school on Friday. He stayed home in his pyjamas and watched daytime TV. He’d told Dad about his phone call with Mum. There were no raised eyebrows. They chatted about stupid things and laughed.

He was considering a second helping of chicken when there was a knock at the front door. Dad looked at him, so Haechan poked his tongue out and went to answer it.

It was Jaemin. He was wearing an explosion of pink and white lace with black trousers. His hair was all twisted up and curled around his ears.

‘You look amazing, Jaem!’

‘You weren’t at school today,’ he said, taking in Haechan’s pyjamas and curry-stained fingers. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ Haechan said. ‘I just didn’t really feel up to school today.’

‘But you’re coming to the social, right?’

Haechan glanced down at his pyjamas and fluffy slippers. ‘Um. No. Not feeling very social.’

Jaemin frowned. ‘But you have to come,’she said. ‘You organised the whole thing! It’s not the social without you. And anyway, my parents are only letting me go if I can go with you. They think you’re responsible and a good influence on me. And the thing is . . . ’ He took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, Jeno kind of asked me to go with him.’

‘Jeno did what?’

Jaemin nodded, blushing. ‘He asked me for my phone number last week at school, and then he called me on the weekend and we talked for like an hour. Did you know he’s really into manga? Anyway, he asked if I wanted to go with him. And I said yes! I mean, I know he’s strange and talks about weird stuff all the time. But he’s just shy. Like me! And he’s into anime and has seen all of Miyazaki-san’s films. And I like him. And I want to see him at the social, and dance with him and then maybe he’ll kiss me and be my boyfriend, but I can’t do that if I can’t go to the social, and I can’t go to the social if you don’t join us.’

Wow. Jeno and Jaemin. But he still couldn’t go. There was a chance that Mark might be there. Or might not be there. And he would feel anxious either way. He thought back to the conversation Mark and he had had about fear. Haechan’d said that nothing made him anxious or afraid. What a terrible lie.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I just can’t.’

Jaemin’s sweet and shy expression hardened, and his lips pursed. He grabbed Haechan by the upper arm and steered him back into his apartment.

‘Hi, Mr Lee,’ he said grimly. ‘Please excuse us for a moment.’

Jaemin frogmarched Haechan into the bedroom and flung open the wardrobe door.

‘Hmm,’ he said, flicking through shirts and jeans. ‘There isn’t much to work with here. You get in the shower, I’ve obviously got a lot to do.’

Haechan blinked. And then he did as told. It had been a very long time since anyone had told him what to do. It was kind of refreshing. Making his own decisions and bossing other people hadn’t always worked out well for him. Maybe it was time for him to be bossed around for a while.

When he came back into his bedroom, Jaemin was standing over a pile of clothes, holding a suit Haechan had worn at his cousin’s marriage a few years ago.

‘I hope you’re not seriously expecting me to wear that,’ Haechan said.

Jaemin smiled. ‘Of course not.’ He reached inside the dress and yanked out the red silky blouse Haechan’d worn under it. ‘You’re going to wear this.’

‘What?’ Haechan said. ‘But that’s basically underwear.’

Jaemin rolled his eyes. ‘Trust me.’

While Haechan was getting dressed, Jaemin vanished back to his own apartment, and returned carrying a tonne of jewellery and a giant sack of makeup. She put gold stuff on Haechan’s eyelids, and applied mascara and eyeliner, and then gave him some red lip gloss. Then Jaemin put a handful of apricot-scented gunk into Haechan’s hair and scrunched it around.

‘There,’ he said when he was satisfied. ‘Look in the mirror.’

Haechan felt like a little kid playing dress-ups, and he was sure he was showing too much cleavage. His collarbones were clearly visible.

‘What do you think?’ asked Jaemin, beaming.

Haechan looked again at his reflection. The thing was . . . He felt like an idiot, but a pretty idiot. Not romantically pretty, the way Mark liked. Not beautiful. He didn’t have long flowing hair or starry eyes, or lips like rosebuds, or alabaster skin.

But he was still pretty, in a confident, no-nonsense kind of way. Maybe even kind of . . . sexy? He looked different, but he still looked like himself. Jaemin had turned him into a pretty, little-bit-sexy, interesting version of himself. Haechan smiled at his friend. Maybe living inside a glass globe really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

‘We’d better go,’ Haechan said. ‘We’re already late.’

Jaemin squealed and clapped and threw his arms around Haechan. ‘Yay! Let’s go! Let’s go!“

* * *

Their decorations budget had been spent well, if ‘well’ means ‘on pink and black helium balloons’. The problem with school dances was . . . well, they were always lame. No amount of hired lighting and silver streamers could ever hide the fact that you were spending a Friday night at school, surrounded by teachers.

But everyone was doing their best to pretend they were having a good time. The social had been in full swing for a couple of hours by the time they arrived, and people had got over their too-cool-to-dance-ness and were wriggling and bumping hips on the dance floor, as the Year Nine kid perched on the stage and did a pretty respectable job as DJ.

Judging from the amount of smeared mascara, stained lips and pashing going on in dark corners, the punch had definitely been spiked.

‘Oh!’ said Jaemin. ‘I see Jeno!’

Haechan did too. His outfit – a long-sleeved white shirt and black pants – was actually bordering on cool. He spotted Jaemin and his eyes widened.

Jaemin was about to run towards Jeno, then hesitated and looked back at Haechan.

‘You go ahead,’ Haechan said. ‘It’s not like I don’t know anyone here. I’ll be fine.’

Jaemin gave him a fat kiss on the cheek and bounced off.

Haechan sidled to a quietish corner of the room and tried to disappear. He’d just stand here. Observe. He’d be fine. He only had to stay for an hour or so, then he could slip out.

‘Um.’

Haechan turned. It was Mark. He looked amazing in a black suit with a skinny tie and Converse sneakers. He smiled and if Haechan hadn’t noticed the sheen of sweat on his brow and the slight tremble of his hands, he’d have thought Mark was totally in control.

What was he doing here? Had he really managed to come to the social? The Year Ten Social, the most anxiety-inducing event of the year, even for non-shy kids?

‘You came,’ Haechan said. ‘You’re actually here.’

Mark nodded. ‘It was totally easy.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure.’

‘And how long did you stand outside before actually coming into the hall?’

‘Maybe an hour.’

‘But it was totally easy.’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Well done for making it in,’ Haechan said, and he meant it. He’d barely been able to manage it himself.

‘Thanks. I think I might be having a heart attack.’

Haechan chuckled. ‘You’ll be fine.’

They both smiled and stared at the floor for a minute.

‘I read your comment,’ said Mark. ‘On my blog.’

‘Oh?’

‘Thank you. For saying all that.’

‘I just wanted you to know I was sorry. Am sorry.’

‘I appreciate it. I shouldn’t have said . . . those things. About you. I was hurt.’

Haechan nodded, and they continued their floor-staring routine.

‘I didn’t knew you were reading my blog… I probably should have guessed it. I was a angry… but I forgive you.’

Haechan bit his lip. ‘I thought about not writing the article,’ he said. ‘About you. I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable, or meddle any more in your personal life.’

Mark frowned. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I-I think you should write it.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble,’ he said. ‘We’ve both gone to so much trouble. And I think it would help . . . if people knew about my condition. Maybe people might understand us better. People with anxiety and other mental problems.’

‘Okay,’ Haechan said, smiling. ‘That’s good. Um. Because I wrote it the other night.’

Mark laughed, and shook his head. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

Haechan felt himself blush. ‘I brought a copy,’ he said. ‘If you want to . . . ’

‘Are you kidding? I’m dying to read it.’

Haechan grinned. ‘Wait here,’ Haechan said, and scuttled off to retrieve his bag, which he’d stashed under the drinks table.

When he returned, Mark was still standing on his own, looking a little awkward and uncomfortable. But he smiled when he saw Haechan.

Haechan handed him a manila envelope. ‘I hope you like it,’ he said. ‘I think it’s . . . good.’

‘I expect nothing less than excellent.’

Haechan felt nervous and pleased. ‘You know, I think it is excellent. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written.’

Mark peeked inside the envelope. ‘This is the school newspaper.“

Heachan nodded. ‘I took the story to Ms Park and she redid the whole layout so it would fit. It got back from the printer yesterday.’

‘What happened to The New Yorker or Vanity Fair?’

Haechan shrugged. ‘You have to start somewhere,’ he said.

Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘So this isn’t such a bad start.’

‘No,’ Haechan said. ‘Not so bad at all.’

Actually, he was pretty sure it was the best issue of the newspaper ever published. There were some great articles in there. Articles that weren’t even written by him. Still.

Mark tucked the envelope under his arm. ‘I’ll read it later,’ he said. ‘When I’m alone.’

Haechan nodded.

‘I have a job interview tomorrow,’ Mark told him. ‘At the library. I’m terrified, naturally.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Haechan said. ‘I know it.’

‘Maybe. And look—’ Mark held out a hand. ‘The four showers took care of most of it, but if you look closely . . . ’

He had a thin crescent of dirt under each fingernail.

‘I planted nasturtiums and rosemary and wisteria,’ he said, looking as if he might burst with pride. ‘Outside, in the backyard. I cut out a square of the astroturf. There were worms and bugs and goodness knows how many million bacteria, but I did it! And the smell, Haechan. The smell of the earth when you turn it up and pour water on it . . . ’ His eyes shone. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing . . . ’

‘Mark,’ Haechan said. ‘That’s wonderful.’ His heart was about to burst.

They grinned at each other like a pair of lunatics. Around them, couples were clustering together for a slow dance. Haechan could see Ten making out with the Johnny and chirped an eyebrow. Things you don’t expect, huh?

‘Haechan, I was stupid,’ said Mark. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t behave like I did.... But . . . ’

‘But I’m not your type.’

‘No. That’s not it. At all.’ Mark bit his lip. ‘Haechan I... Would you dance with me?‘

Haechan looked over at Jaemin dancing with Jeno. He gave Haechan a little grin and wave. Jeno turned and waved at Haechan as well. It felt good. Having friends.

‘Definitely,’ Haechan said. ‘Friend.’

Mark looked to the side for a second and then held out his hand. ‘Well, friend,’ he said. ‘Would you like to dance with me?’

Haechan took his hand. ‘Yes,’ he said and didn’t blush at all.

They moved out onto the dance floor and Mark put trembling hands on Haechan’s waist. Haechan could smell his clean and flowery smell. Mark smiled nervously at him, and Haechan felt really hot all of a sudden.

‘You’re doing an excellent job,’ Haechan murmured in his ear.

Mark swallowed. Every girl in the entire room was staring at them with dagger-eyes of envy. Haechan allowed himself to feel a little bit proud, and let his head rest on Mark’s shoulder.

After awhile he lifts his head and gazes at Mark’s face. And all of a sudden Haechan feels shy and strange to be so close to Mark. He hears the gallop of heartbeats—his own and another’s. Did Mark feel the same?

The boy lays his forehead against Haechan’s, and his face mirrored Haechan’s own clash of emotions. Then Mark closed his eyes and, slowly, kissed him. The kiss rushed through Haechan like a live current. His body knew with an astonishing certainty what his mind still struggled to comprehend—that he had never felt such a strong connection with anyone or anything in the world.

Mark’s touch had become the whole world. His mouth, hands, hair, every limb and muscle, every cell of his body, became part of Haechan’s own. All thoughts of the past and the future scattered. The dance floor and the teenagers all around them, everything beyond this moment and them, seemed distant, fragile, unreal.

It was not at all like their first kiss. Mark didn’t held his hands stiff away from his body. He didn’t find words to excuse himself from the moment. It was the opposite. He pulls Haechan in close, softly strokes Haechan’s cheek.

When they broke apart, Haechan was unsure how to face Mark, so they settle back into their quiet synchronization, with Haechan's head on Mark’s shoulder, watching the dancing crowd. Mark breathed in. Haechan breathed out. Mark’s arm around his waist sank down. This was more than close; it was connected.

Mark reached for Haechan’s hand and knit their fingers together. ‘I really, really like you Haechan.’

‘You fool,’ Haechan muttered against Mark’s shoulder. Then, after a pause: ‘I like you too.’


End file.
